<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Goddess of Victory by shadowen</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29034372">Goddess of Victory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen'>shadowen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>All Stories Have Monsters [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Autistic Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Established Relationship, Found Family, Genderfluid Nicky, Homophobia, I swear it has a happy ending, Implied/Referenced Torture, Joe and Nicky have a lot of stories, M/M, Mission Fic, Nazis, Nile wants to hear a story, Open Relationships, POV Outsider, Platonic Cuddling, Police Brutality, Racism, Story within a Story, TERFs, Transphobia, ace exclusion, aro/ace Nile, frame story, gender euphoria</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:40:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,550</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29034372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s another short pause before Nicky answers, “Most of the time, for most of my life, I am a man. Sometimes, I am a woman.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman &amp; Nicky | Nicolo di Genoa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>All Stories Have Monsters [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>205</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Part of a series but can be read as a stand-alone.</p><p>Please see the tags for content warnings. This is a pretty heavy story.</p><p>Thanks to lafseanchai and fuinixe for the beta. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How do you identify?” is a weird question to ask anyone. Even if the intention is just to clarify or to make sure they’re being referred to correctly, it can still put a person on the spot and make them explain something they might not want to. </p><p>Nile doesn’t mind when people ask her; the moment she learned the words “aromantic” and “asexual”, she slapped them on like a name tag and never looked back. She tries to only ask other people if it comes up naturally or if it’s actually important that she knows, like introducing them to someone else with the right pronouns, or something like that.</p><p>For the most part, her new family has been pretty straightforward. Andy has recently learned the phrase “chaotic bisexual” and thinks it’s the best thing she’s ever heard, and the way Joe describes himself sits perfectly at the intersection of panromantic and demisexual. As in so many things, though, Nicky is a bit of a mystery. He’s probably allosexual, he definitely likes men, and, according to one off-handed comment from Joe, there may have been some points in time where he identified as or pretended to be a woman. Nile figures she’ll get the facts eventually, or she’ll just ask if it ever becomes relevant.</p><p>It’s a visit to Copley’s office, of all things, that ultimately brings it up.</p><p>They’ve just wrapped a quick job in Nepal, and Andy and Joe are tying up loose ends while Nile and Nicky drop off some recovered items for Copley to return to their rightful owners.</p><p>In the year that they’ve been working with him, Copley’s office has descended into the kind of eclectic clutter Nile would expect from a history professor. The only thing that’s gotten neater is the crazy conspiracy board of immortal hijinks, which now shows an actual coherent timeline. Andy had argued that keeping any record at all was a security risk, but Copley pointed out that their history was worth documenting and that, if their enemies made it into the office to even see the board, they were already fucked. Nile thinks it’s only a matter of time before he starts writing down their stories; hell, she might beat him to it.</p><p>This particular set of stories begins, innocuously, when Copley asks Nicky to set a packet of documents on his desk.</p><p>Suddenly, Nicky asks, “Is this your wife?”</p><p>He’s standing beside the desk, holding a gold photo frame. He doesn’t turn it around, but it seems Copley doesn’t need to see the picture to know what it is.</p><p>“Yes,” Copley says quietly. “Elaina. Her name was Elaina.”</p><p>“Elaina,” Nicky repeats, looking at the photo with an odd expression. “She was... ah... It is such a new word.” </p><p>To Nile, he says a word in Italian that she doesn’t know, and she shakes her head. Frowning, he asks, still in Italian, “<em>Someone who is born as a man but lives as a woman? </em>”</p><p>Nile stares at him, surprised. “Transgender?”</p><p>“<em>Sì. </em>” Back to English, he asks Copley, “She was transgender?”</p><p>Copley looks just as surprised as Nile. “I... yes. She was.”</p><p>Nodding, Nicky sets the frame back in its place on the desk. “<em>Molto bella. </em> Such a beautiful smile.”</p><p>A little bit of the tension in Copley’s shoulders eases, as if he was bracing for an insult that isn’t coming. He walks behind the desk and picks up the photo for himself, smiling sadly.</p><p>“Yes. She was very... very beautiful,” he agrees. Clearing his throat, he adds, “I guess that is rather a new concept, isn’t it? The trans community, and everything.”</p><p>Nicky shakes his head. “Only the word is new. The concept is as old as... as the concept of man and woman. There have always been people who do not exactly fit as they are told, people like your Elaina.” He pauses, just for a second, before he says, “People like me.”</p><p>“People like...?” Copley blinks at Nicky, then looks at Nile like she might be able to explain what’s going on. She just shrugs. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”</p><p>There’s another short pause before Nicky answers, “Most of the time, for most of my life, I am a man. Sometimes, I am a woman.”</p><p>Nile has gotten used to her new family saying off-the-wall things like they’re commenting on the weather, and Nicky is especially prone to making truly batshit statements in the calmest possible voice. This... isn’t like that. From anyone else, his tone would sound perfectly casual, but Nile has developed some fluency in Nicky’s personal language of emotions and knows that this is anything but casual. He’s trusting them with something important.</p><p>Whether Copley also hears the edge in Nicky’s voice or just instinctively understands, there is real empathy when he says, “That must be very difficult, given the sort of life that you’ve led.”</p><p>Nicky gives him a small, grateful smile. “It is.”</p><p>The questions Nile has about this particular subject are piling up, but she doesn’t plan to start asking them until it’s just her and Nicky and a pint of dairy-free ice cream. Copley, on the other hand, has more curiosity than the proverbial dead cat, and goes on, “I can’t imagine what that must have been like, historically. Obviously, there’ve always been people who defy gender norms, like you said, but still... I can’t imagine.”</p><p>Maybe Nicky’s indulging Copley’s curiosity, or maybe he just feels like talking about it. Either way, he sits down in one of the soft office chairs and begins, “Some people speak of knowing such things when they are very young. For me it was different. It honestly did not occur to me at all until, oh, perhaps the seventeenth century?”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Nico could not say how or why the thought first entered his head. As a young man, he had envied women only in that they were permitted to lie with men. He did not wish to become a woman; he only wished to enjoy that one privilege as they did.</p><p>Years, decades, and centuries passed. Fashions changed, boundaries shifted, and the distinctions between the masculine and the feminine, which had always seemed so fixed, moved in unpredictable ways between one period and the next. In every era, Nico found something to envy about the existence of women, especially those of the wealthier classes, who could add fine clothes and education in arts to their natural attributes.</p><p>He had Joseph and no longer needed justification or permission for his sexual nature, but he was still jealous of the ways in which beautiful women could capture the attention of beautiful men. He found himself longing also for the fellowship women enjoyed, the shared experiences and common perspective. On occasion, he even wished for the feminine tools of gentle persuasion and the advantage of being always underestimated.</p><p>Though the seed of the thought had an unknown origin, it grew. As time went by, he tended it, sometimes idly and sometimes with great focus. The seed flourished, until the little thought became an idea, which in turn became a distraction, as such thoughts often do.</p><p>The first time he put this vague envy into words was in the small hours of a dark night, wrapped in Joseph’s arms. He could not recall where they were, only that they had made love and were now lying awake and talking.</p><p>“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be a woman?” Nico asked. He knew there was nothing he could feel or want that would make his beloved think any less of him, but he still held his breath once the words were spoken.</p><p>Joseph hummed thoughtfully, his breath warm against the edge of Nico’s ear. “I do not think that I have. I expect it would be frustrating, much of the time, being so restricted by the rules of men.”</p><p>“That is true,” Nico agreed, which he had also thought, but which was not at all what he meant.</p><p>When he did not go on, Joseph gently kissed the side of his neck and asked, “Do you wonder such things, <em> tesoro</em>?”</p><p>“Yes,” Nico answered quietly, before nerves could stop him. “Very often.”</p><p>Joseph tightened his arms around Nico. “Tell me what you think about.”</p><p>“I think... sometimes... that I would like to be a woman.” It was impossible to articulate all the ephemeral notions and fleeting wants that haunted Nico’s mind, but he could at least try to speak the things he knew for certain. “I would like... I think I would like for men to look at me and speak to me the way they speak to women, and also for other women to see me as a sister.”</p><p>After a moment, he added. “Not all the time, but... sometimes. Sometimes I think it would be nice.”</p><p>The pause that followed was excruciating. Nico was sure that Joseph could feel his heart pounding, waiting, with no idea what his beloved could possibly say to this revelation.</p><p>Then Joseph gently nuzzled the back of his neck and said, “I think you would be a beautiful woman.”</p><p>Until those words reached his ears, Nico had not known how very much he wanted to hear them. Now that it was said, it filled a place in his heart he had never known was empty.</p><p>He had to swallow back tears before he could ask, “Do you truly think so?”</p><p>“Of course,” Joseph replied, as if it was an obvious fact. “So tall and graceful, with your striking eyes and lovely mouth. You would be a goddess.” Joseph kissed the spot behind his ear and added, “You are divine to me, already. Build your temple however you please; I will always worship there.”</p><p>Nico thought that Joseph was predisposed to find him attractive and could not offer an objective opinion, but the praise warmed him so much that he did not wish to argue. Instead, he said, “I think you would be a good husband.”</p><p>Joseph lifted his head, and Nico looked at him from the corner of his eye. “If you were a woman, you mean?”</p><p>“If I were a woman, yes.” Nico explained, “So many women are controlled by their fathers or their husbands. I do not think you would be like that.”</p><p>“Try to control you?” Joseph laughed, loud in the quiet room. “My heart, you are a hurricane. There are no tethers on earth that can tame you, and I pity anyone who tries.”</p><p>It was not often that Nico allowed himself to be pleased by Joseph’s flattery, which came daily like cloudbursts in summer, but tonight he chose to soak in it, to sink back into the heat of Joseph’s arms and let himself be held. “You would listen to my opinions and treat me as an equal,” he went on.</p><p>“A superior,” Joseph assured him. “Your wise voice commands me, no matter its pitch.”</p><p>“And when you took me to bed...”</p><p>“My favorite part.”</p><p>“You would be gentle and attentive...”</p><p>“Am I not always?”</p><p>“And you would see to my pleasure before your own.”</p><p>Joseph groaned. “<em>Wallahi</em>, Nicolò. My goddess, my life, your pleasure is all that I live for. Must I prove that again to you tonight?”</p><p>He did so, and then proved it once more, before the night was over.</p><p>They did not speak of it again for a long while, but Joseph began to pepper his private praises with feminine endearments. He seemed to take special delight in calling Nico his goddess, and he sometimes spoke the word with a tone of such pure reverence, that Nico felt at once blasphemous and powerful.</p><p>It was a slow thing. Small pieces, here and there. Ribbons, shawls, little trinkets that struck his interest or, more often, that Joseph would find for him. He could have had a gown made for him; the expense was within their means, and there were tailors who would not balk. Still, he preferred to keep this part of himself between him and Joseph, not yet prepared to acknowledge it even to Andromache, much less to a stranger.</p><p>As the world continued to change, clothing became more varied and more accessible. Fabric became cheaper, styles became simpler, and eventually it was possible to purchase distinctly feminine clothes that needed only some small adjustments in order to fit him well.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“I would wear things at home, sometimes,” Nicky tells Nile and Copley. “Like a practice. I practiced walking, practiced my voice. Only when it was just me and Joe. The first time I went out was in the early twenties, I think.”</p><p>“Eighteen twenties?” Nile guesses.</p><p>“Nineteen twenties,” he says. “Twenty-one or twenty-two. We were in Berlin.”</p><p>“Wait, wait. Twenties Berlin, as in...” She doesn’t know what else to say, except, “Here comes Hitler?”</p><p>Nicky scowls. “For a brief period of time, Berlin was the most progressive city in the world. The German Republic could have...” His jaw tightens. “It was different before the Nazis.”</p><p>Nile thinks that’s probably an understatement. She only has a vague idea of what the family was up to during World War II, but the idea of being non-binary in Nazi country makes her stomach turn.</p><p>Copley, apparently, has a different take-away. “You practiced for <em> three hundred years</em>?”</p><p>“As you said, it is difficult with the sort of lives we lead,” Nicky points out, a little wistful. “I make time for that part of myself, but that time is rare and often private.”</p><p>After a moment, he adds, “Besides. It takes a lot of practice to walk in heels, much less to run or fight in them.”</p><p>An utterly terrifying thought suddenly occurs to Nile. “Oh my god. Do I need to learn to fight in heels?”</p><p>“In my experience, you should learn to fight in anything,” Nicky observes sagely. “I take my heels off, if I can, but that is not always an option.”</p><p>To her growing list of questions, Nile adds a request for details on every time Nicky has ever had to fight in heels and/or remove heels before fighting. They are going to have <em> such </em>a talk the next time they hang out.</p><p>Copley, who has been sitting in his desk chair, abruptly straightens as if he’s just remembered something, then starts rifling through a drawer full of files. When he finds what he’s looking for, he stands and brings Nicky a thick folder full of documents.</p><p>“This is a case I’ve been tracking,” he explains. “It’s a little outside your usual activities, so I didn’t bring it up, but... Well, I think you might be interested.”</p><p>Nile leans over Nicky’s shoulder to watch him page through the file, the first few parts of which are crime scene reports with photos of dead bodies. “What is this, a serial killer?” she asks.</p><p>“That’s one theory, yes, but I’m not so sure,” Copley says. “Twelve victims, found over a period of five years, across a wide radius, with varying causes of death. Different ethnicities, different ages, different body types, different occupations, <em> but </em>they all have two things in common.”</p><p>Copley holds up one finger. “They all visited the same bar within a month before death.” Holding up a second finger, he adds, “They’re all transgender women.”</p><p>Nicky keeps flipping through the pages, but Nile can see the muscles in his jaw clench. </p><p>“I’m guessing the cops aren’t interested?” Nile asks</p><p>Copley shakes his head. “The MPS aren’t convinced the murders are connected, or even that all of them are murders. The victims were all found in different places, and local law enforcement doesn’t care enough to coordinate an investigation. At least four of the deaths have already been classified as accidents, and two were ruled to be suicide. One of the victims was a sex worker who wasn’t even identified until months after she was found, and the rest are just... sitting.”</p><p>Without looking up, Nicky says, “You have a theory.”</p><p>“I do. May I?” Copley reaches out to take the folder from Nicky, who hands it over with a grim expression. Paging through the files, Copley pulls out a photo of a business front with a sign that reads <em> The Beaver Pelt</em>. “I think there may be an organized group of people targeting trans women in the London area, and that they are operating out of this bar, or at least using it as a place to identify victims.”</p><p>Nicky nods. “I will talk to Andy and Joe. Any more information you find about this place and these people will be helpful.”</p><p>“On it,” Copley says, immediately going back to his desk and getting to work on his computer.</p><p>Turning to Nile, Nicky asks in Italian, “<em>Do you object to this? </em>”</p><p>Like this isn’t exactly the kind of helping people shit she signed up for. Her limited grasp on Italian isn’t quite enough to express what she wants to say, so she answers in English, “Hell no. Let’s get these transphobic motherfuckers.”</p><p>Andy and Joe are one hundred and ten percent on board with the job until the exact moment that Nicky tells them his plan.</p><p>The plan, it turns out, is for Nicky, as his feminine self, to become a regular at The Beaver Pelt - and Nile wants to punch whoever named the bar, just on principle - until the killers take the bait. It’s not exactly zero risk, especially for Nicky, but it’s not the worst idea Nile’s ever heard. The others, however, act like Nicky’s suggested picking a fight at an alt right rally.</p><p>“No,” Joe says firmly. “Absolutely fucking not. Not again.”</p><p>Nicky looks at Andy, who shakes her head. “No. Joe’s right. It’s nineteen forty-one all over again.”</p><p>“What happened in nineteen forty-one?” Copley asks.</p><p>“This is different,” Nicky insists, and Joe makes a pained sound.</p><p>“How, Nicolò? How is this different?” he demands, pacing restlessly around the office.</p><p>“For one, it is a pub, not an internment camp,” Nicky replies patiently.</p><p><em> That </em>gets Nile’s attention. “Hold up. What?”</p><p>“You’re still bait!” Joe shouts at Nicky. “You want to put yourself out in the open, and w-”</p><p>“This is the best way to do this,” Nicky says, cutting Joe off, but he’s talking to Andy. “You know it is the best way.”</p><p>Joe keeps pacing, grumbling to himself and scratching angrily at his beard. </p><p>Andy looks from Joe to Nicky like they’re the proverbial rock and a hard place, like there’s no good way out of this. Closing her eyes, she shakes her head again. “Nicky...”</p><p>“I am doing this,” Nicky tells her. “You will help me, or you will not.”</p><p>As if it’s a question, as if Andy would ever just stand back while her people walk into danger. Even if Nicky already has Nile and Copley to back him up, there’s no way Andy is going to let them do this without her, and Nicky clearly knows it. He’s playing dirty.</p><p>Andy sighs and rubs at her temples. She keeps her eyes closed for a long moment before she sighs again and leans back in her chair. “Fine. We’re doing this. <em> But</em>.” She points a finger directly into Nicky’s face. “Someone is going to have eyes on you every second of this operation, and you are <em> not </em>going to shoot them. Is that clear?”</p><p>Nicky’s expression of grim determination doesn’t change. “<em>Sì. Bene.</em>”</p><p>Joe walks right out of the office and slams the door hard enough to shake the windows.</p><p>Andy and Nicky share a quick look. Andy nods once, and Nicky rushes out the door after Joe.</p><p>There are a few beats of silence, then Copley asks again, “So... what happened in nineteen forty-one?”</p><p>“Later,” Andy tells him, sounding tired. “Right now, we have work to do.”</p><p>The three of them spend the next few hours going over details and logistics for the mission, punctuated by unintelligible bursts of shouting as Joe and Nicky carry on what sounds like an apocalyptic argument throughout the rest of the house. When Joe yells a complicated Arabic swear that’s both loud enough and clear enough for Nile to understand, followed by another slamming door, she raises an eyebrow at Andy.</p><p>“Are they...?”</p><p>“They’ll be fine,” Andy assures her. “I mean, assuming this job doesn’t go completely tits up, they’ll eventually be fine. Joe’s gonna be insufferable until it’s finished, though, so prepare yourself.”</p><p>“Insufferable how?”</p><p>“Same way he always is, just dialed up to eleven.”</p><p>“What does that mean?” Copley asks, before Nile can.</p><p>Andy snorts and looks at him with a bitter smile. “Oh. You’ll see.”</p><p>Nile doesn’t see Joe or Nicky again until the next morning. Andy has decided that the four of them will stay at Copley’s house for now, since the job is local, and Andy still doesn’t trust their old safehouses. If Copley minds the intrusion, he doesn’t say so, and he certainly doesn’t seem upset when Nile finds him at the kitchen table, staring intently at his laptop while Nicky cooks breakfast.</p><p>“G’morning,” she mumbles through a yawn, going straight for the pot of coffee on the counter and opening cabinets until she finds a mug. Her mother’s voice is in her head telling her to mind her manners, but she’s already picked up her new family’s habit of treating wherever they are like their own damn home. Copley can just deal.</p><p>She bumps her forehead affectionately against Nicky’s shoulder and finds a place to lean against the counter where she won’t be in the way. The fresh loaf of bread cooling on the table suggests that Nicky’s been up cooking since dawn, and the quick smile he gives her tells her that yesterday’s argument with Joe didn’t end on the best terms. The fact that neither Joe nor Andy is here right now makes her think it must have been pretty fucking bad.</p><p>“<em>Buongiorno, sorellina.</em>” He says something else in Italian, but Nile holds up a hand for him to stop.</p><p>“Nah ah. English only until coffee.”</p><p>Nicky frowns and points to the mug in her hand. “That’s not coffee. That’s strong tea with delusions of grandeur.” At least he’s speaking English.</p><p>“As long as it’s caffeinated, I don’t care,” Nile replies. He’s right, of course, but she’s going to hold out for at least a century before she admits that living with Joe and Nicky has turned her into a coffee snob.</p><p>Shaking his head in disgust, Nicky mutters to himself, and Nile is awake enough to catch the words <em> American </em> and <em> taste </em>. She takes a deliberately obnoxious slurp out of her cup, just to annoy him, and he swats her lightly on the side of her head.</p><p>When he’s done cooking, he piles three plates with food, handing one to Nile and setting another in front of Copley, who blinks at the plate as if it just appeared out of thin air.</p><p>“Oh. Thank you,” he says, glancing up at Nicky. “This looks delicious. Thank you.”</p><p>Nicky just smiles and sits down with his own plate. By now, Nile’s coffee has kicked in, and she asks Nicky in Italian, “<em>How are you doing? </em>”</p><p>He pokes at his food and shrugs without looking at her. “<em>All good. </em>”</p><p>Nile just watches him in silence until he glances up, then she raises an eyebrow. He rolls his eyes. “<em>I’m fine, little sister. Truly.</em>”</p><p>She hums in a way that she hopes tells him just how unconvincing he is, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she says casually, “<em>If you ever want to have a girls’ day, I’d be up for that.</em>”</p><p>Either the idiom doesn’t translate, or he’s not familiar with the concept, because he furrows his brow and repeats, “<em>A day for girls? </em>”</p><p>“<em>Like, brunch and shopping and manicures, or... I don’t know. A day doing girl things.</em>” It’s been so long since Nile even <em> had </em>a girls’ day, she’s drawing a blank on everything she used to do with her friends, and some of what she does remember, she doesn’t know how to say in Italian.</p><p>Nicky frowns, confused. “<em>We often go shopping together,</em>” he points out, which is true. </p><p>“<em>Yeah, but we could do it as sisters,</em>” Nile explains. </p><p>That must resonate, because Nicky’s frown deepens for a second, then his expression suddenly clears. “<em>Oh. I see. Yes. That would...</em>” A faint blush rises on his face, and he gives her a small, pleased smile. “<em>I would like that very much. Thank you.</em>”</p><p>Clearing his throat, he switches to English and tells Copley, “I will have some things sent here from the house in Sicilia, if that is alright.”</p><p>It takes Copley a second to realize that Nicky is talking to him. “What? Oh. Yes, of course. Whatever you need.”</p><p>“Find something?” Nile asks. The way Copley’s been staring at his screen, he might be cracking the case of the century.</p><p>“Maybe. I’m not sure. It’s just...” He sits back in his chair with a sigh. “One of the victims, Nina Delgado, disappeared directly from the bar. She was reported missing, and there was an investigation until her body was found. The inspector on the case thought she might have been taken from the bar’s parking lot, but when he tried to get the CCTV footage... there was none.”</p><p>“None, as in, the bar has no security cameras?” Nile asks. “That seems weird.”</p><p>Copley shakes his head. “None, as in, there are no cameras whatsoever covering the parking lot or the front and back entrances of the bar. The businesses around it have their own security systems, which don’t cover those spots, and the bar has a camera for their back office. That’s it.”</p><p>“Perhaps they want privacy for their patrons?” Nicky suggests. “Some people would not wish to be seen at the door of such a place.”</p><p>“Maybe.” Copley rubs his hands together, absently. “I don’t know. Whatever the reason, it feels deliberate.”</p><p>“It sure seems like the bad guys know about it, anyway,” Nile says.</p><p>“And are using it to their advantage,” Copley agrees. “We’re going to have to keep a close watch on this place.”</p><p>They continue going over the few leads Copley has pulled together for the rest of the morning, until the coffee and the food have all been consumed and the kitchen has been cleaned. Andy and Joe, it turns out, left early to scope the target area, and they return just after noon with several bags of take-out. </p><p>Nile half expects Joe and Nicky to be tense with each other or to go off into another room to resolve their argument. Instead, Joe sinks to one knee by Nicky’s chair and kisses his hand. He murmurs something Nile can’t make out, and Nicky kisses the top of his head. They look at each other in silence for a moment before they share one last kiss on the mouth, quick and chaste and still so painfully intimate that Nile reflexively looks away.</p><p>And that’s it. One word and three kisses, and it’s like the argument never happened. If anything, Joe is even more attentive and affectionate than usual, serving Nicky’s plate for him, bringing him something to drink, dragging his chair as close to Nicky as he can get it, resting his free hand on Nicky’s shoulder while they eat. Nile is beginning to understand what Andy meant about Joe being insufferable.</p><p>As far as Copley can tell, none of the victims were abducted from the same place or in the same way, which suggests that the killers watched their targets for at least a little while before moving in. To present an enticing target, Nicky needs to appear to be completely alone without ever actually <em> being </em>alone, because they also need to keep Joe from having an aneurysm. This leads to a complicated shell game involving two cars, five locations, three surveillance cameras, one fake business, and two sets of rotating shifts.</p><p>They haven’t even started, and Nile already has a headache.</p><p>The day before they’re set to roll out, Nicky knocks on the door of the den that has been Nile’s bedroom during their stay. Nile looks up from packing the handful of belongings she’s managed to accumulate and scatter in the short period and grins at him.</p><p>“Hey, sib. What’s up?”</p><p>“Do you have plans for today?” Nicky asks. He doesn’t come all the way into the room, just sticks his head in around the door.</p><p>Nile shakes her head. “Just prepping for go time. What do you need?”</p><p>“It is not need, but I thought...” His mouth twitches, like he’s trying to think of the word for something. “I need to shop for... things. You said you would not mind if... That we could go some time together. As sisters?”</p><p>Instantly, Nile stands up straight and looks him dead in the eye. “Are you saying it’s time for a girls’ day?”</p><p>Nicky flushes and pulls back a little so that he’s mostly hidden by the door. “It is for work, but... yes. I would like for us to shop as girls.” Quickly, he says again, “It is not need. That is, you don’t have to.”</p><p>“Are you kidding?” Honestly, shopping with Nicky is Nile’s favorite leisure activity in her new life, even if they’re just cruising stores and don’t buy anything. She’s been dreaming of the day he lets her pick out things for him. “Give me five minutes, and I’m good to go.”</p><p>“Oh,” Nicky says, looking startled. “I... It will take longer, for me.”</p><p>“Cool. Just let me know when you’re ready.”</p><p>Nodding, he retreats back through the door with a quiet, “<em>Sì. Grazie.</em>”</p><p>Since they just came from a job, Nile has zero cute clothes with her and has to settle on jeans and a t-shirt, already planning to borrow one of Andy’s jackets. She only has a few pieces of jewelry and no makeup, so she definitely needs to get herself some going-out clothes, too. </p><p>Ready to go, she joins the others in Copley’s office while she waits for Nicky. They’re going over the complicated schedule of arrivals and departures from each of the five locations to make sure everyone is where they need to be without ever being seen together. Thankfully, she only has to listen to Andy and Copley argue about what constitutes excessive security for a few minutes before Nicky shows up.</p><p>Nicky, as a general rule, dresses like a dad on vacation. He wears a lot of khaki, a lot of cargo pants, and a lot of nondescript button-down shirts. When Nile saw him earlier, he was wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt. Now, he’s... <em> she’s</em>... not.</p><p>Now, Nicky is wearing black leggings and an oversized black sweater that hangs in exactly the right way to even out the difference in width between her shoulders and hips. Her wig is a simple, shoulder-length bob with gentle waves, just a shade darker than her natural hair color, and her purse is a massive black leather sling bag that looks designer but is so out of date that it’s almost come around to vintage. She has on big, movie star sunglasses, so Nile can’t see her eye makeup, but it’s probably just as perfect as her deep pink lipstick. Her only jewelry is a pair of silver rings, one on each hand, and it takes Nile a second to recognize them as Joe’s.</p><p>The thing that’s really spinning Nile’s head, though, is that Nicky, who is usually just tall and lanky, is now wearing red wedge-heeled boots and is suddenly a towering supermodel with mile-long legs.</p><p>“Damn,” Nile says, and Nicky gives her that familiar small, pleased smile.</p><p>If anyone else is surprised by the change in Nicky’s appearance, it doesn’t show. Andy barely looks up, and Joe just has the same soppy expression he always has when Nicky walks into a room. Copley holds up a set of car keys, but before Nicky can take them, he says, “Just so we’re clear, you can take my car, but Nile is driving. Yes?”</p><p>Nile has seen the others drive, and she absolutely understands why Copley only trusts her with his car. She reaches around Nicky and grabs the keys. “Yep. I’m driving. You can pick the music.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” Nicky says, and her voice is... different. Still definitely Nicky, but sweeter, higher, like it’s coming from the front of her mouth instead of deep in her soul. She gives Joe a quick kiss and heads back out of the room.</p><p>Before Nile can follow her, Joe says quietly, “Nile...”</p><p>He has a terrible poker face, even when he’s trying, and right now, he’s not. Something about this job or whatever happened in 1941 has him seriously nervous, and now he’s trusting Nile to take care of Nicky when she’s going out as a woman for the first time since fuck knows when. </p><p>Nile gives Joe a short nod and tells him, “I got this. We’ll be back in time for dinner.”</p><p>In the car, Nicky enters an address in the car’s navigation, and they’re off. Once they’re on the road, Nile says, “Okay, three questions.”</p><p>Nicky’s expression is unreadable behind the big sunglasses, but she nods.</p><p>“Pronouns?” Nile asks. “She/her?”</p><p>“Oh. <em> Sì. Per favore.</em>” She sounds off, like that wasn’t the question she was expecting, but she doesn’t say anything else, so Nile goes on.</p><p>“Name? Still Nicky, or do you prefer something else?”</p><p>She hesitates before she answers, “Nicky is fine.”</p><p>There’s a big fat <em> but </em>hanging at the end of that sentence, and Nile prompts her gently, “But?”</p><p>Nicky shakes her head. “It’s silly. Just a joke.”</p><p>“Hey, if there’s something else you want me to call you, tell me,” Nile says. “Doesn’t matter if it’s silly.”</p><p>“It’s...” She takes a deep breath. “No. It’s alright. Just Nicky, for now.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>Nicky doesn’t respond. She just shifts a little in her seat and looks out the window.</p><p>“Okay, question three,” Nile continues, keeping her tone light. “What are we shopping for?”</p><p>“Clothes,” Nicky replies. “Some makeup. It has been a long time since... since I went out. I need new things.”</p><p>“Awesome.” Nile is already planning what kind of outfits to look for and what she’s going to get for herself. She knows this is for work, and they have to be strategic. Still. “This is gonna be so much fun.”</p><p>The shopping center is much more moderate than the upscale boutiques they usually visit, and Nicky explains that the high-end women’s shops don’t carry larger sizes. There’s several department stores, though, and lots of variety, plus the unmistakable grease-and-carbs smell of a food court.</p><p>Nicky’s taste in feminine clothes is just as subdued, if slightly more flattering, as his taste in masculine clothes. She wears a lot of black and favors styles that slim down her shoulders and show off her legs, and if Nile had legs like that, she’d want to show them off, too. Nile does convince her to step away from the neutral colors enough to pick up a green eyeshadow palette, because if there’s anything else Nicky should be showing off, it’s her eyes. </p><p>Their typical shopping trips are pretty leisurely, but it turns out, when she’s buying for herself, Nicky is the most efficient shopper Nile’s ever seen. She pays cash for everything, and Nile has to wonder how much money and how many knives are stored in that big-ass purse. The only time they slow down is to get manicures, and Nile is a little surprised when, instead of going for beige or pink, Nicky chooses an aggressive crimson polish.</p><p>They sit quietly for a little while, and Nile relaxes into the simple, ordinary indulgence of getting her nails done. After a few minutes, Nicky says, “<em> Grazie, sorellina. </em>”</p><p>Nile sighs in contentment, happy to just be here. “Anytime, <em> sorella</em>.”</p><p>They get back to the house well before dinner, with enough clothes and makeup to get through however many times Nicky has to visit the bar before someone takes the bait. At least she’s going to look good doing it.</p><p>The grim looks that greet them in Copley’s office tell Nile immediately that something is wrong. “What?” she asks. “What is it?”</p><p>“Police in Luton found the body of a trans woman this morning,” Copley says tightly. “We can’t be sure yet, but this could be another victim of our killers.”</p><p>Nile... doesn’t know what to say. This is what they were trying to prevent. They didn’t move fast enough. If they’d been ready sooner...</p><p>“What was her name?” Nicky asks.</p><p>Copley checks something on his computer screen. He hesitates before he says, “Nikki Reyes.”</p><p>“Nikki Reyes,” Nicky repeats, her voice flat.</p><p>Nile turns to look at Nicky, but her eyes are on the ground, jaw clenched. She’s thinking the same thing Nile is, that they should have been faster, that this death is on them, even if there’s no way they could have stopped it. Nile would bet she’s also thinking - they’re all thinking - that this will be the last one. </p><p>It’s time to go to work.</p><p>Their base of operations is in a mostly-empty office building down the street from the bar. They have a corner office with a decent view of the front entrance and monitors showing feeds from every camera on the block, including a few new ones they added to cover blindspots. Someone is scheduled to be on watch 24/7 until the job is done, and there’s a pile of blankets and pillows for everyone to crash between shifts. The only ones not sleeping in the office will be Joe and Nicky, who have a suite at a hotel nearby.</p><p>Nicky gets to stay in the hotel because it’s part of his cover. Joe gets to stay in the hotel because, when Copley made the mistake of suggesting otherwise, Joe gave him a look that would have reduced a lesser man to tears. They’ll have to shuffle to make it <em> look </em>like Nicky’s staying alone, but it’s worth the extra security.</p><p>“At least this bar won’t be raided,” Nicky remarks.</p><p>They’re finishing the set-up in the office, a few hours before Nicky will make his - <em> her </em>- first appearance at the bar, and the mood in the room is tense. Nicky is clearly trying to lighten things up, but it doesn’t work.</p><p>“Oh, no. No raids, just serial killers,” Joe says sourly. Half of the negativity in the air is coming from him, and Nile is going to slap him if he’s like this when they’re on watch together.</p><p>“Were you in a bar that got raided?” she asks Nicky. She smells a story, and she knows better than to ask Joe, right now.</p><p>Nicky nods. “Did I not tell you? The first time I went out, there was a raid?”</p><p>“Shit,” Nile says. “That sucks.”</p><p>“It was not so bad.” Nicky shrugs. Joe gives him a look, and Nicky adds, “At the time, it felt terrible, but really it was a good night.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>There had always been places in the world for those whose desires did not fall within whatever parameters were deemed acceptable at the time. Joe and Nicky had visited a few such places over the centuries, mostly out of curiosity. When time allowed for idleness and enjoyment, they often preferred to spend it alone, but, on the occasions that they sought out these hidden rooms and discreet lounges, it was usually because Nicky wanted to go dancing.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, did you say <em> dancing</em>?” Nile interrupts, pointing at Nicky. “You? Dancing? By choice?”</p><p>Nicky just smirks a little as Joe answers, sounding genuinely affronted, “Nicky happens to be an excellent dancer.”</p><p> “And you’re not talking about, like, going to a ball and waltzing,” Nile has to clarify. “You’re talking about ye olde gay bar.”</p><p>“It wasn’t like what there is now,” Nicky tells her. “Much more quiet.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>On this particular evening, Joe had made sure to find a little club that would be welcoming. They’d been a few times already, to get a sense of the place and to scope the exits, and they were reasonably confident that it would be nearly as safe as their own home.</p><p>Nicky wasn’t worried about safety, though. Threats of violence meant very little, if they were even likely to be threatened at all. What Nicky worried about was being laughed at, being stared at, being an embarrassment to Joe.</p><p>“The only way you could possibly embarrass me is if you find someone more attractive to leave with,” Joe promised her. “And even then, I’ll get over it.”</p><p>“Not tonight,” Nicky said. “And how could anyone be more attractive to me than you?” </p><p>Tonight, she needed Joe at her side every second; she would probably be clinging to his arm like a child. This part of her was still so new and fragile, she couldn’t stand the thought of a stranger touching her for anything more than a dance.</p><p>Long hair, even just to the shoulders, was often more trouble than it was worth, in their line of work, and Nicky was grateful that wigs had become so much less ostentatious over time, having found one that was a simple, medium-length cascade of waves, close enough to her natural color. She wore a snug black skirt and nylon stockings, as was fashionable at the time, and a high-necked blouse that fell loosely around her shoulders and chest, with black lace gloves to make her hands look smaller. As much as she wanted to be noticed, fashions with too much frill and sparkle had never appealed to her. The one bit of drama to the whole ensemble was a pair of exquisite red patent leather heels, purchased from a high-end cobbler who specialized in making shoes for larger women, shoes which Nicky sometimes wore to lounge around at home, just because they made her feel glamorous.</p><p>Joe, who always looked like a film star when he wore a suit, stared at her while she finished dressing, soft amazement shining in his dark eyes.</p><p>“After all this time, the sight of you shouldn’t surprise me,” Joe said. “But sometimes I think you go out of your way to remind me how beautiful you are.”</p><p>Nicky looked at him from the corner of her eye.</p><p>“I’m serious! It’s like you think my attention is going to slip, then suddenly you do something new, and I can’t think about anything else.”</p><p>“It’s not my fault you’re easily seduced,” Nicky answered mildly.</p><p>Joe huffed. “It might not be your fault, but you take advantage of it.”</p><p>That much was occasionally true, Nicky had to admit, but tonight wasn’t about getting Joe’s attention. Having her beloved swooning over her was just a pleasant side-effect.</p><p>They had a safehouse outside of town, but Nicky, normally unfazed by humble lodgings, refused to drag her only beautiful clothes into a broken-down stone hut that was older than she was, so they had chosen a modest hotel within a few blocks of their destination.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that safehouse is three hundred years, at most,” Andy protested.</p><p>Nicky raised an eyebrow, and Andy rolled her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Andy and Booker were waiting for them in the hotel lobby. Andy whistled in appreciation, but it was Booker’s expression of open-mouthed, wide-eyed <em> shock </em>that made Nicky hold her breath.</p><p>“Holy Christ, Nicky. I don’t know what I expected, but...” Booker shook his head. “You look incredible.”</p><p>An entirely unfamiliar feeling of relief and euphoria flooded Nicky, and she realized that was the thing she had been craving: for someone other than Joe to look at her and to see her, to behold her in this form and find her worthy of admiration and desire. She couldn’t answer, even to thank him, so she smiled and nodded.</p><p>The club was small and relatively quiet. The little dancefloor could hold perhaps half a dozen couples at a time, and for the next three hours, half of one of those couples was Nicky. She started the evening dancing with Joe, but he always preferred to watch her dance, rather than join in, so he soon stepped aside for Booker, who was a better dancer, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” </p><p>“It’s true, and you know it. You stomp like a goat.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“You look like you’re having the time of your life,” Booker said, spinning Nicky gracefully around the dance floor.</p><p>“I really am,” she admitted. She felt light and unburdened in a way she had never experienced, like all the blood and guilt and centuries belonged to someone else. For now, she was just a pretty girl, dancing with pretty boys, spending time with the people she loved.</p><p>“Honestly, so am I,” Booker told her, grinning. “It’s been a very long time since I danced with such a beautiful woman.”</p><p>Nicky huffed. “Stop it.”</p><p>“I’m serious, <em> cherie </em>, you look stunning,” he insisted, and something in Nicky’s chest that had been wound tight for years began to loosen. </p><p>“<em>Grazie, fratellino. </em> That... I can’t begin to tell you what that means to me.”</p><p>Booker smiled a little sadly and kissed her cheek. “And you look happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much.”</p><p>In truth, Nicky didn’t smile often, not because she was unhappy, but because her thoughts were so often focused on other things that she simply forgot to smile. Now, there were no threats looming, no people who needed help, and no reason for concern. Now, she had her brother and sister to protect her and her beloved Joe to care for her, and there was nothing to think about but the joy of dancing and being seen. </p><p>When Booker was claimed by an attractive young man with curly blond hair, Andy stepped up to dance with Nicky, until she, too, was swept away by a petite woman in a grey suit. After that, the moment a song ended, a new hand would offer itself to Nicky, and she spun around the little dance floor with what seemed like every other person in the place, men and women alike. Some of them wanted to chat, some just held her close and moved with the music, a few paid her a multitude of extravagant compliments, and more than one suggested they would like to take her home. She made polite conversation and smiled sincerely and said, “Thank you, but I am here with someone.”</p><p>When she could no longer ignore the aching in her feet, she dropped into the chair next to Joe to let them heal. He just watched her with an expression she would never get used to seeing, no matter how often he looked at her that way.</p><p>“You look like you’re composing poetry,” she remarked, knowing that would please him.</p><p>Sure enough, his smile widened. “No verse could compare to the poetry of your body in motion. The greatest wordsmiths in history would be silent in your presence.”</p><p>She stole a sip of his drink to hide her sudden blush and told him, “You’re a ridiculous man.”</p><p>“I’m a man in love, <em> dea mia</em>,” he said. “You make me like this.”</p><p>“You have always been like this,” she reminded him. “Don’t blame me.”</p><p>After nearly a thousand years together, Joe knew when Nicky’s protests were sincere and when she was only teasing him to make him say more. Tonight, it was the latter, and Joe seemed delighted to keep up the amorous banter.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god. You two are so gross,” Nile groaned.</p><p>“Wait another century,” Andy grumbled. “They haven’t gone through an adventurous phase, lately.”</p><p>Nicky gives Joe a look that seems to catch him off guard. “What?” Joe asks.</p><p>“Tell her,” Nicky commands. “Tell her what you said.”</p><p>Joe blinks, obviously trying to remember, then he makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Oh,<em> madre de Dio. </em> Nicky...”</p><p>Turning to Nile, Nicky begins, “He said th-”</p><p>“That was later,” Joe protests. “I didn’t say that at the club. It was at the hotel, when y-”</p><p>“It was at the club. Booker came up right at the end, remember?”</p><p>Joe waves his hand. “No, no, no. You’re thinking of that time in Vienna. We were talking about that bastard Bloch, and I said he’d probably shut up if someone put a cock in his mouth.”</p><p>Andy snorts. “I mean, you’re not wrong about that.”</p><p>“No, I remember that, but I'm thinking of...” Nicky shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just tell Nile what you said that was so absurd.”</p><p>“No!” Joe insists. “I’m not going to repeat it, because, whatever you might remember, that comment was made in the privacy of our bedroom, and I doubt Nile wants to hear it anyway.”</p><p>They glare at each other for several seconds before Joe narrows his eyes and says something in Arabic that makes Nicky laugh.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The evening, which had been among the best of Nicky’s life, was beginning to wind down. </p><p>Booker had left with a slim-figured person of indeterminate gender, promising the family he would return in the morning. Andy, likewise, was standing very close to the petite woman she had danced with earlier, and Nicky guessed they would also not see her again before morning. All of which suited Nicky perfectly, as it meant her brother and sister were having fun, and that she and Joe would have the hotel room to themselves.</p><p>She was leaning into Joe’s shoulder to suggest that they take advantage of that situation immediately, when the door to the little club burst open with a splintering of wood.</p><p>“<em>Raid! It’s a raid! </em>”</p><p>Voices were shouting, screaming, people running in all directions, and, in the chaos, police with batons swinging wildly. </p><p>Nicky started toward the intruders, a highball glass in her hand to use until she could get a better weapon, but Joe’s grip on her wrist pulled her in the opposite direction.</p><p>“We can help!” she insisted, but Joe held firm.</p><p>“We’ll be <em> arrested</em>,” he hissed.</p><p>It took half a second for the full meaning of that to reach Nicky’s brain. Arrested, for them, didn’t just mean getting roughed up by the police and sitting in jail for a few hours; it meant the possibility of being found out, being tortured, and being separated.</p><p>Nicky let herself be pulled toward the bar at the back of the club. </p><p>There was a door that led, not into the alley behind the building, but into a stairwell connected to the suite of offices upstairs. From there, they made their way onto the roof and peered cautiously down onto the street below.</p><p>Police were hauling people out of the club, some in handcuffs, others just being dragged, many with blood on their faces or clothes. Nicky’s stomach turned, and every instinct screamed at her to <em> do something</em>. The only thing that kept her in place was Joe’s hand, strong and warm on her arm.</p><p>“We have to go,” Joe whispered.</p><p>Below them, the young man with curly blond hair was being thrown into a police car. Presumably, Andy and her companion had made it out a different way. Nicky didn’t see them.</p><p>“<em>Nico</em>.”</p><p>She looked at Joe and saw the pleading in his dark eyes. She saw him imagining a thousand terrible things that could happen if they were caught, especially with Nicky... like this. Joe was forever the armor that protected her when she did not care to protect herself.</p><p>Nicky nodded, and they crept across the roof to where this building faced another, taller structure, with a narrow gap between them, close enough that they could easily leap across to a fire escape. Unfortunately, a pencil skirt and heels didn’t lend themselves to any kind of jumping, and Nicky tried not to flinch as she removed her shoes and ripped open the skirt’s seam. Perhaps she could repair it.</p><p>They climbed to the roof of the second building, then finally descended back to the street using the fire escape on the opposite side. Nicky kept her shoes in her hand, ready to sneak, to run, or to use the solid heels as a weapon. </p><p>The walk back to their hotel was hardly more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. They kept to alleys and side streets, staying out of bright lights and looking around every corner. Neither of them seemed to breathe until they were safely back in the room with the door locked behind them.</p><p>They had left the light in the bathroom on, casting the rest of the space in sharp shadows, and the bare bulb made Joe’s face look pale as he stripped off his jacket and tie. Nicky could only imagine what she looked like; she could feel the makeup and mascara running down her cheeks with sweat.</p><p>With the threat passed and adrenaline ebbing, she stood in the middle of the room in her torn skirt and ruined stockings, holding her beautiful red shoes, caught on the raw edge between himself and herself, unsure which direction he wanted to fall.</p><p>“Nicky?” Joe’s voice was gentle, concerned.</p><p>“We could have helped.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They tasted bitter, like the last smudges of lipstick still clinging to his mouth.</p><p>Joe sighed and stepped in close, gently cupping his warm hands around the back of Nicky’s neck. “Yes, we could have. We could have killed the policemen, the people would have gotten away, and tomorrow there would be more policemen coming to arrest them for murder.”</p><p>Nicky clenched his teeth. Joe was right. He <em> knew </em>Joe was right.</p><p>“Or we could have held off the police long enough for everyone to get away,” Joe went on. “Then the authorities would know our faces and come looking for us. Or worse, they would have caught us, and then... who knows.”</p><p>Guilt, Nicky had learned long ago, did not listen to logic and reason. Guilt didn’t care that intervening would have made things worse for the people they were trying to help or condemned him and Joe to captivity. If he let it, guilt would eat away at the memory of this night until it had consumed all the joy. Perhaps he should let it; perhaps he deserved to have this particular happiness stripped away.</p><p>He shook his head and pulled off his wig, which had somehow remained in place. “I never should have done this. It was foolish and selfish.”</p><p>“<em>Stop it.</em>” Joe’s grip on his neck tightened. “What happened tonight is not your fault. Do you hear me?”</p><p>Nicky swallowed, forced himself to nod.</p><p>Joe pulled him in so that their foreheads rested against each other. “And I don’t believe you’ve ever done a truly selfish thing in your life. I think you’d have a breakdown, if you tried.”</p><p>It was entirely possible, Nicky thought, that he <em> was </em>having some kind of breakdown, that the impulse to dress in women’s clothes was symptomatic of something inside him that had always been broken. Part of him, the part that remembered praying for God to cure him of his sinful urges, believed that might be true. The part of him that was here, in this moment, grounded by Joe’s touch, knew it was horse shit.</p><p>“Take me to bed?” he asked.</p><p>Joe kissed him, as gently as if his lips were made of porcelain, and that was the last they spoke of it until morning.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Thankfully, police raids on queer businesses are a thing of the past,” Copley says. “Mostly.”</p><p>“That’s because we stopped running from them,” Nicky replies, and Nile knows that he doesn’t mean <em> we </em> , as in their little band of immortals. He means <em> we </em>, as in the queer community.</p><p>Copley gives him a thin smile, like he understands exactly. “You’re certainly not running from anyone, tonight.”</p><p>The smile that Nicky offers in return is sharp and vicious, and Nile almost feels bad for the people they’re after. </p><p>Almost.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once everyone is in place, the plan is actually pretty simple. Either Nile or Andy will arrive at the bar a few minutes before Nicky, alternating and adjusting times so it doesn’t look too consistent. Their job will be to keep an eye on Nicky and get friendly with the regulars. Meanwhile, Joe will be on lookout in the office, and Copley and whoever isn’t in the bar with Nicky get their break time. </p><p>When the bar closes, Joe and Nicky will go back to the hotel, Copley will take over the lookout, and Nile and Andy get to sleep until someone wakes them up for the next shift. During the day, there will be some running around with Nicky in masculine clothes to support the story that he’s a closeted trans woman in town on business, but that’s on Joe and Nicky to orchestrate. </p><p>For the most part, Nicky’s job is literally to show up, sit at the bar, and look pretty.</p><p>After a week of this routine, with no leads on their targets and no incidents at the bar, Joe actually starts to relax. Nile suspects that he and Nicky are using their downtime to have a lot of really intense sex, since they have that big hotel suite to themselves, and she figures that would improve anyone’s disposition.</p><p>Which is why she feels a little guilty when she asks him the one thing that is sure to ruin his mood. “What happened in nineteen forty-one?”</p><p>The two of them are on lookout, while Andy and Nicky are in the bar, and Copley is snoring on the floor. Joe looks at her and sighs. “I guess that’s a fair question, considering.”</p><p>“We don’t have to talk about it,” Nile says. She’ll drop it, if he says to, but she doesn’t think he will.</p><p>Joe shakes his head. Lights from outside the window cast his profile in sharp shadow where he’s sitting next to the scope. “No, no. It’s... relevant. Sort of. Listen, there’ve been plenty of jobs where one of us had to be bait, and there’ve been jobs where Nicky went in as a woman. It’s just that the one other time she did both, things went about as bad as they could go.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The apartment in Arles smelled of damp and was much too small for four adults to live in with any kind of comfort. A threadbare armchair and lumpy couch were Andy and Booker’s beds, respectively, and Joe and Nicky claimed the narrow bed only because it was the one surface big enough for them to sleep side-by-side. More than once, Booker joked that he would offer sexual favors to either of them, in exchange for a turn on the bed, until Nicky told him if he said it again, it would be a deal.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Joe stops suddenly. He’s looking out the window, face turned away from Nile, and she wonders if something on the street has caught his attention.</p><p>“See something?” she asks.</p><p>“What? No.” He turns back to her with a weak smile. “Just... remembering.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“I have good news, and I have bad news,” Booker announced. “Well, good might be relative, but I do have useful information to offset the bad news.”</p><p>“So your fascist friends are good for something, after all?” Andy asked. </p><p>Booker scowled. “Don’t call those pigs my anything. When this war is over, I’m going to bathe for a week, just to wash off the stench of Nazis.”</p><p>“There’s no soap strong enough for that,” Joe grumbled. He’d shaved his beard and cut his hair and stayed out of the sun, and still the bastards glared at him with suspicion. When this war was over, he thought, he wanted to go somewhere the only white face he had to see was Nicky’s.</p><p>“What did you find out?” Nicky asked, ever the one to keep them on track.</p><p>Booker dropped onto the couch with a sigh. “The bad news is that our dear Stabsgefreiter Huber has been promoted and will no longer be overseeing deliveries. The fellow replacing him doesn’t like me, because I beat him at cards.”</p><p>Andy groaned. “Dammit. That asshole was our best contact.”</p><p>“He’ll still be at the camp, and I’d bet he’ll still be willing to trade favors. But...” Booker shrugged.</p><p>“Alright, so what’s the good news?” Joe asked. “Or, the relatively good news?”</p><p>Booker scratched at the back of his neck. “Ah. Well. The good news is that the new fellow...”</p><p>“The one who doesn’t like you,” Andy clarified.</p><p>“He has a particular weakness that we might be able to... leverage,” Booker finished, chewing on his lip.</p><p>When it became evident that he wasn’t going to continue, Joe prompted, “A weakness for what?”</p><p>“Women,” Booker said. “Tall women, in particular.”</p><p>Joe and Nicky exchanged a look.</p><p>“I might have mentioned to Huber that I have a sister,” Booker went on. “And that she might come with me on my rounds. He seemed to think that would help, uh, smooth the transition.”</p><p>“No. It won’t work,” Andy said, shaking her head. “The guards have seen me in town. They’ll be suspicious.”</p><p>Andy, Booker and Joe all turned to look at Nicky, who seemed startled by the sudden attention. </p><p>“Oh. Ah... I don’t...”</p><p>“No,” Andy said again. “It’s too risky.”</p><p>She was right, of course, but the other side of that risk was losing their only way to get messages and supplies in and out of the camp.</p><p>“Could we get someone else?” Joe suggested. “One of our resistance contacts?”</p><p>Andy blew out a breath of frustration. “Maybe. We’d have to get word to Lapointe in Paris, and that would take... three weeks? More? Then another month for anyone to come, if there’s anyone to spare.”</p><p>“We’re already going to lose time,” Booker pointed out. “It’s going to take a while to win over this guy, even if there’s a pretty girl for him to look at.” He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, then added, “For what it’s worth, I’ve seen some of the girls he chases. Nicky would be his type.”</p><p>Nicky’s mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure how to take that, but he said, “I will try, if you think it can work.”</p><p>Booker shrugged. “I think it’s worth making an introduction. If he doesn’t seem interested, no harm done.”</p><p>“Unless he clocks Nicky. That could do some harm,” Andy reminded him.</p><p>“I don’t think he would, though,” Booker argued. “People see what they want to see. If I introduce him to my sister, tell him she’s shy and doesn’t speak German, all he’s going to see is a beautiful woman who doesn’t talk much.”</p><p>“But I do speak German,” Nicky said.</p><p>“He doesn’t need to know that,” Booker replied. “Your voice is the only thing that really gives you away.”</p><p>A muscle in Nicky’s jaw tensed, and Joe took his hand, threading their fingers together. “I will need some things,” Nicky told Booker. “It will take a few days to be ready.”</p><p>“Next supply run is in four days. I can g-”</p><p>“Now hold on a minute,” Andy cut in. She gave Nicky a serious look, brows furrowed. “We’re not talking about distracting a guard for a few minutes. We’re talking about stringing along a Nazi soldier, maybe for months. Are you <em> sure </em>you want to do this?”</p><p>Joe tightened his grip on Nicky’s hand, and Nicky squeezed back. In a steady voice, Nicky said, “Yes.”</p><p>Andy nodded. “Alright, get Book a list of what you need. And you,” she said, turning to Booker. “You better be right about this.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“I’m guessing it didn’t work,” Nile says, but Joe shakes his head.</p><p>“Oh, no. It worked.” </p><p>There’s some activity at the door to the bar, and he pauses to check the scope. It must be nothing, because he sits back and goes on, “It worked so well that the bastard stopped checking the crates entirely. After a month, Booker could have been smuggling grenades to the prisoners, and that Nazi asshole would have been too busy swooning over Nicky to notice.”</p><p>Nile snorts, imagining Nicky batting her eyelashes and pretending to be a shy little country girl. “So what happened?”</p><p>Joe takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “What happened is someone got careless, and one of the officers got suspicious.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>For every plan, there was a contingency, a set series of actions for what to do if a job went wrong. In this case, as in many others, the signal was a note with a single word: <em> yes</em>.</p><p>Joe had been taking odd jobs around the little town, getting to know the place and ingratiating himself with the locals, finding out who sympathized with the invading Germans and who might be persuaded to undermine them. He was helping a farmer replace a broken wagon wheel when a little boy, the son of a shopkeeper down the road, ran up and handed him a dirty scrap of paper.</p><p><em> Oui</em>.</p><p>One word, written quickly in Booker’s hand. He did not react, did not panic, just thanked the boy and put the paper in his pocket. He would not let himself imagine what might have happened, would not dwell on the possible significance of Booker writing the note instead of Nicky. All he knew was that something had gone wrong, and he needed to meet the others at their apartment to find out what. Until then, there was no sense in speculation.</p><p>“I’m sorry, my friend,” he told the farmer. “There is an emergency at home. I must go immediately.”</p><p>The farmer, a stout and friendly man named Gagneux, frowned in concern. “Is there anything I can do to help?”</p><p>Joe shook his head, already making his way around the wagon and into the street. “That is very kind, but no. It will be alright.”</p><p>Gagneux called after him in parting, but Joe barely heard it. Despite the impulse to run, he forced himself to jog casually up the muddy street. Running would draw attention, and attention could make matters worse.</p><p>He thought of that morning, waking up with his nose pressed against the back of Nicky’s neck, smelling the sweat and rosewater on Nicky’s skin, instead of the damp apartment. He thought of kissing Nicky good morning and kissing Nicky goodbye. He thought Nicky’s name over and over like a meditation, like a prayer to be lifted up every moment of every day. His goddess, his beloved, his warrior saint. His Nicolò.</p><p>When he reached the apartment, Joe found Booker in his underclothes, scrubbing blood off of his face.</p><p>“There were more guards, seven or eight,” Booker began, before Joe could ask. “They stopped us at the gate and started dumping out the crates, checking everything. The officer in charge started asking questions. He zeroed in on Nicky. Maybe he thought he could intimidate her. She kept up the cover, but he just... He wouldn’t leave her alone.” Booker rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Then, I’m guessing they found the shivs, because suddenly they had guns on us.”</p><p>Joe’s blood was cold in his veins. He might have been shaking, but the only thing he could feel was ice spreading under his skin. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to ask, had to know, “Where’s Nicky?”</p><p>Booker’s face crumbled. “I’m so sorry, Joe. It was so fast. I couldn’t...”</p><p>The entire world spun and turned grey at the edges. There was no air in the room, no smell of sweat and rosewater, just the suffocating damp.</p><p>“We’ll get her back,” Booker told him fiercely. “Joe, I swear on my life, we’ll get Nicky back if we have to burn down that whole goddamn camp.”</p><p>Before Joe could remember how to breathe, Andy burst through the apartment door, face twisted in a snarl like she might bite the next person who came in reach, and demanded, “What the <em> fuck </em>happened?”</p><p>Booker repeated the sequence of events, adding that he and Nicky had managed to take out three of the guards before they were overwhelmed. By the time he was finished, enough reason had returned to Joe’s mind to ask, “How did you get away?”</p><p>“Nicky shot me.”</p><p>In unison, Joe and Andy both replied, “<em> What </em>?”</p><p>“As soon as she could tell we weren’t getting away, she shot me in the head,” Booker explained. “When I woke up, they’d taken her inside the gate.”</p><p>Joe’s stomach rolled. He was going to throw up or pass out or just fall down dead. He wanted to die, if only for that brief moment on waking before he would remember what was happening, just so that he might have a few seconds’ relief from this awful, sickening terror.</p><p>“I’ve been in the administrative buildings,” Booker went on. “If you two can keep the troops occupied for a few minutes, I can go in and find Nicky.”</p><p>“Liberating the camp should keep them pretty occupied,” Andy muttered. “We’ve been made, so we might as well do as much as we can.”</p><p>“We have to go,” Joe managed to say, not knowing where he found the breath to speak. “Now. We have to go now.”</p><p>Andy shook her head. “We wait until nightfall. That’s our best chance.”</p><p>She was right. Of course she was right, but that meant leaving Nicky with those monsters for hours. Joe tried not to think about what horrors were being inflicted on his beloved, what blasphemies they would commit on that sacred skin when they discovered the man underneath the woman. Joe’s memory of Nicky’s body was perfect to the last detail, and every errant thought of torture summoned an image in his mind as clear as if it was happening before him. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“What I imagined was worse than what they actually did,” Joe tells Nile. “It was bad, but it wasn’t... It could have been worse.”</p><p>“What did they do?” The question is out of Nile’s mouth before she can think, and she immediately regrets it.</p><p>Joe gives her a look so tired and full of sadness that, for the first time, she sees evidence of all his nine hundred years. Flatly, he replies, “They tortured her.”</p><p>The details aren’t important, not really. The fact that Nicky suffered at all is what matters to Joe, and the thought of it happening again, for the same reasons, is what terrifies him about this job.</p><p>“Look, I don’t know what kind of creeps we’re dealing with here, but it’s not a concentration camp full of Nazis,” Nile says gently. “Whoever they are, Nicky can handle them. <em> We </em>can handle them.”</p><p>Joe’s smile is almost genuine, but he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t talk much for the rest of the shift, which is unusual, and Nile falls asleep before he leaves to join Nicky at the hotel.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s Nile’s turn in the bar, by herself at a standing table in the corner, and she’s definitely getting tired of soggy fries, watered-down drinks, and white girl music.</p><p>Her cover story is that she’s an American university student doing a semester in London, and she’s at the bar looking to make some local friends. She’s chatted with a lot of regulars over the past two weeks, and she’s definitely made note of the ones who stopped saying hello after she told them she was ace. Not coincidentally, some of them are the same people Andy reports have made some unfriendly comments about Nicky.</p><p><em> Fucking TERFs</em>, she thinks, sucking on her straw to get the last few drops of her drink. It’s mostly melted ice, by now, but the noise briefly drowns out the music in her ears. </p><p>It’s not that Nile dislikes bars. Any place with good music, decent alcohol, and a busy dance floor is practically paradise, in her book, and she’s developed a fondness for the small, quiet pubs that count their age in centuries. The Beaver Pelt is the kind of place she might enjoy visiting once, but it’s definitely not her scene. She’s seen maybe two other brown faces in all the nights she’s been here, and most of the patrons are older than she is by at least ten years. </p><p>Andy has had much better luck making contacts and getting information than either Nile or Nicky, and the reasons why are pretty obvious. That, and the killers have probably learned that chatting with their intended victim will make them suspects when she turns up missing or dead.</p><p>Suddenly, Nile has an idea.</p><p>She gestures to one of the servers making the rounds, ostensibly to hand over her empty glass. This particular server is a bleached blonde woman who looks like she probably enjoyed the nineties. Nile hasn’t spoken with her, but Andy has and noted that her remarks included some distasteful phrases.</p><p>As the server picks up her glass, Nile nods to where Nicky is perched elegantly on a high stool and asks, “Hey, do you know the woman sitting at the end of the bar? The one with the red boots?”</p><p>The server glances over toward Nicky and makes a face. “You know that’s not really a woman, right?”</p><p>There’s nothing NIle can say that will be helpful to anyone, so she just replies lightly, “I think she’s cute.”</p><p>“Whatever. I don’t think he speaks English,” the server tells her. “Or he’s pretending to have an accent, or something.”</p><p>Jesus fucking Christ, Nile wants to punch this bitch. “I thought I heard somebody say she’s Italian?”</p><p>The server shrugs, shooting one more look at Nicky before she moves on to another table.</p><p>Nile has never genuinely flirted with anyone in her life, so she’s not really sure what she’s supposed to do to make it obvious that she’s flirting. She figures a cheerful attitude and a friendly smile will at least communicate positive intentions, so she makes herself look nice and chipper as she walks over to Nicky.</p><p>“<em>Act like we’re flirting. I have an idea</em>,” she tells Nicky in Italian.</p><p>Nicky smiles at her in surprise and says brightly, “<em>Tell me</em>.”</p><p>Hopefully, to anyone else, it will look like Nile has just found out there’s a fellow Italian speaker in the bar, and that they’re having a pleasant chat. Her conversation with the server ensures that at least one person will notice them talking and possibly have an opinion about it.</p><p>“<em>We’ve established that our bad guys are pretty careful, right</em>?” she begins, and Nicky nods. “<em>What if they’re careful enough to wait until it’s been a few days since their victim was at the bar? </em>”</p><p>“<em>I wondered about that, also,</em>” Nicky says, taking a delicate sip of her drink, which is the pinkest liquid Nile has ever seen in her life. “<em>Perhaps I should stay away for a few days, yes? </em>”</p><p>She doesn’t show any sign of relief at that, but Nile knows she’s feeling it. “<em>I also think it’ll get their attention if you leave with someone</em>,” Nile adds.</p><p>At that, Nicky raises an eyebrow, and Nile explains, “<em>There’s this idea that trans women are just men pretending to be women so they can sleep with lesbians.</em>”</p><p>“<em>And if I go home with someone, they will see me as more of a threat</em>.” The corners of Nicky’s mouth tighten, but she doesn’t drop her smile. “<em>Do you, ah, volunteer as tribute, as you say? </em>”</p><p>“<em>Sure, as long as we don’t have to make out</em>.”</p><p>Nicky actually laughs at that. “<em>Good. Let’s get the hell out of here</em>.”</p><p>Thirty seconds after they walk out of the bar, Nicky’s phone rings. It must be Joe, because she answers in that weird Mediterranean mash language that even Andy can’t completely follow. The call only lasts a moment, but it’s enough to change Nicky’s half-smile to something soft and genuine. </p><p>“<em>Joe will meet us at the hotel,</em>” she tells Nile. “<em>Andy is taking over the watch</em>.”</p><p>Since they don’t actually want to discourage anyone who might be following them, they walk back to the hotel at a leisurely pace, which Nile has to set because Nicky, when she’s focused, has a natural walking speed twice as fast as a normal human, even in four-inch heels and a skin-tight miniskirt. Eventually, Nile just grabs her hand to keep her from walking ahead.</p><p>“<em>Joe told me what happened in fourty-one</em>,” Nile says, not necessarily because she wants to talk about it, but because she wants Nicky to know that she knows.</p><p>To her surprise, Nicky snorts. “<em>And what exactly did he tell you? </em>”</p><p>Nile repeats the highlights of the story Joe told her, and Nicky’s expression darkens steadily until she gets to their plan for rescuing Nicky.</p><p>“<em>All of that is technically true</em>,” Nicky says. “<em>But he left out some things</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Like what? </em>”</p><p>“<em>Like the fact that Andy and he did not liberate the camp. I did.</em>”</p><p>Well, that’s not what Nile is expecting to hear. “<em>But you were...</em>”</p><p>Nicky sighs. “<em>Yes. I was.</em>” She’s quiet for a second, clearly thinking, then she goes on, “<em>There are other things Joe would not have told you, not because he doesn’t know, but because he wasn’t there.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Even with Booker’s truck, the journey between the town and the camp was slow going. The road was uneven, pitted with holes, and often muddy, which took its toll on the old truck, already on the verge of breaking down. This forced Booker to drive carefully, slowly, and very uncomfortably, turning the twice-weekly trip into an hour-long ordeal, each way.</p><p>As a result, Nicky and Booker wound up spending a lot of time sitting together with nothing to do but talk, which they did with pleasure.</p><p>“No. Not a chance. I don’t believe you,” Booker said, laughing and shaking his head.</p><p>“It’s true!” Nicky insisted. “She offered me one hundred florin and promised to take good care of him.”</p><p>Heavy rain was beating down on the roof of the truck, turning the dirt road into a quagmire, so travel was even slower than usual. If it got much worse, they would have to stop until the rain subsided or find another route.</p><p>“What did you say?” Booker asked.</p><p>“I didn’t say anything,” Nicky replied. “Joe told her he was insulted and that his master would never part with him for such a paltry sum. She was speechless.”</p><p>Booker roared with laughter and slapped the steering wheel, and Nicky laughed along with him, remembering the woman’s face at being thus spoken to by a man she thought was a slave. When he had caught his breath, Booker asked, “Now tell me, has anyone ever offered to buy <em> you</em>?”</p><p>“Buy, no. Rent, yes,” Nicky said. “Though perhaps <em>hire </em>is the better word. A man in a bathhouse once offered me a ducat to suck his cock.”</p><p>“And what did Joe have to say to that?”</p><p>Nicky snorted. “Nothing. I told the man to make it two, and it was a deal.”</p><p>Booker stared at her. “You didn’t actually do it, did you?”</p><p>“Of course I did. He was good-looking, and it was good money.” Nicky glanced over to see Booker looking genuinely stunned. “This shocks you?”</p><p>“No, no... Well, actually, yes. I just...” Booker stammered. “Joe... didn’t mind?”</p><p>A warm feeling curled in Nicky’s belly at the memory of that day, and of others. “No. No, he didn’t mind.”</p><p>“Really?” Booker asked, disbelieving. </p><p>“Why should he mind? I am his,” Nicky countered. “Another man may touch me for a moment, but it is only a moment. I will never belong to anyone but Joe.”</p><p>Booker hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose. Though, I don’t think I’d like that, if I were him.”</p><p>“If he did not like it, I would not do it, but he does like it, so I do what I want,” Nicky said plainly.</p><p>“He likes it?”</p><p>“He likes to watch.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, dear Jesus. God. TMI.” Nile shudders. It’s inevitable that she’s going to get way too many details about Joe and Nicky’s sexual preferences, but she’s hoping to hold off learning most of it until she’s too old to care.</p><p>“<em>Mi dispiace</em>,” Nicky says, frowning. “I forget, sometimes, what is too much.”</p><p>“It’s fine, just...” Nile shudders again. The last thing she wants to think about is Joe being a dirty old man. “You’re telling me Booker wasn’t a little shocked by that, too?” </p><p>“He was, yes, but also...” Nicky pauses. “There is more to say. I think you will understand why I am telling you this.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>If the bad weather had dampened Stabsgefreiter Stauss’s spirits, his mood seemed to immediately improve when Nicky and Booker arrived. He was standing at Nicky’s door with an umbrella before the truck had completely stopped.</p><p>“<em>Bitte, fräulein. Hier drüben. Aus dem regen</em>,” he said, gently ushering her under the eave of the outer storage building. She let him lead her, smiling brightly and keeping close to him under the umbrella. </p><p>If Stauss hadn’t been a Nazi, Nicky might have said he was sweet, but, as it was, his choice to enlist in Hitler’s army was easily the most interesting thing about him. He was the sort of man who had decided early in life that the thing he needed most was the admiration of women, and he had not bothered to develop a personality beyond that.</p><p>Nicky never spoke to him directly. She kept a vague smile on her face, pretended not to understand a word he said, and mostly relied on Booker to speak for her when an answer was needed. It was a calculated strategy, and the exaggerated shyness drove him just as wild as if she’d offered to touch his cock.</p><p>“Oh, yes, you just stand there and stay dry. Let me do all the work,” Booker groused at her in French.</p><p>“My mascara will run,” she replied, and he rolled his eyes. </p><p>Stauss didn’t speak enough French to understand them, but he clearly had some idea of what was being said. “<em>I’m happy to help</em>,” he told Booker in German. “<em>Your lovely sister should not have to work in the rain.</em>”</p><p>“<em>You’re too kind, sir</em>,” Booker said. To Nicky, he added in French, “This idiot thinks you’re a delicate flower.”</p><p>“<em>Please tell her she looks very pretty today</em>,” Stauss asked, and Booker nodded, looking at Nicky.</p><p>“He’s right about that, at least.”</p><p>Nicky fought the urge to roll her eyes. “You’re both ridiculous. Hurry up, so we can get out of here.”</p><p>“<em>She says thank you.</em>”</p><p>The skills required for subterfuge and espionage had come to Nicky with an ease that surprised her, and she had made an effort, over the centuries, to sharpen them, finding that subtle strategies often suited her patience and focus much more than the intensity of a pitched battle. Nicky <em> liked </em>spycraft, and she had long ago discovered a talent for convincing people to trust her, to talk to her, regardless of what gender or role she appeared in.</p><p>Keeping Stauss’s attention was easy, but it was not pleasant. Every time he came within arms’ reach, her skin crawled, and his glance sent cold shivers up her spine. She longed to be back in the rattling cab of the truck with Booker or, better still, back in the small, damp apartment with Joe.</p><p>When this war was over, she thought, she would take Joe somewhere warm and quiet, where she could lie in his arms and cry like a child until she felt clean again.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Nicky stops. </p><p>It’s only half a second before she starts walking again, but it’s enough for Nile to notice and tighten her grip on Nicky’s hand.</p><p>“The Nazis were not unique,” Nicky says. “So many regimes have tried to eradicate those they believe to be... lesser. Impure. Incorrect.” Quietly, she adds, “I was once a soldier of such a regime.” Squeezing Nile’s hand in reply, she goes on, “I have fought many of them. I don’t know what made the Nazis different, or if they only felt different because I was specifically among the people they wished to exterminate.”</p><p>“I mean, I feel that,” Nile says. She knows that bigotry, discrimination, and even racism come in every possible form, but she’s always going to have a personal problem with white supremacists because they have a personal problem with her.</p><p>Nicky lets go of her hand and puts an arm around her shoulders, like she knows what Nile is thinking. Between the two of them, they check a lot of boxes that Nazis consider cause for execution. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>NIcky couldn’t recall exactly how she ended up alone with Stauss. Booker had to go inside the storage building for some reason, and Stauss remained under the eave with Nicky, standing so close that she could smell the wet wool of his uniform. </p><p>Blushing, he gestured to her face and said earnestly, “<em>Jolie. Très jolie</em>.”</p><p>“<em> Dankeschön </em>,” she replied, pronouncing the vowels with French inflection.</p><p>He beamed at her, excessively pleased at this small interaction. He was so pleased, in fact, that he leaned in and pressed his lips to Nicky’s mouth before she realized what he was doing.</p><p>It took every ounce of control, practiced throughout lifetimes of war and discipline, to stop her from punching him in the throat. </p><p>Gently, politely, she pushed him away and took a step back. “<em>Non, non. S’il vous plait</em>. <em> Arrêtez</em>.”</p><p>Mouth open and eyes wide, he looked genuinely stunned at being refused, as if such a possibility had never occurred to him. Surely any woman would thrill to be kissed by a rain-drenched German soldier, he must have thought, even if he didn’t speak enough of her language to ask permission.</p><p>Thankfully, Booker emerged from the building, and Nicky had never been so grateful to see him in her life. If she murdered this Nazi bastard in cold blood, all their months of work would have been for nothing.</p><p>Safely in the truck, the scorned soldier out of sight, Nicky reached into the bag on the floor where she knew Booker kept a flask of strong alcohol. What it was didn’t especially matter at the moment. She poured some into her mouth and immediately spit it out the window, trying to strip the taste of fascist off her lips. The next mouthful, she swallowed, then chased it with one more, for good measure.</p><p>Booker was watching her with a raised eyebrow, frowning.</p><p>“He kissed me,” she explained.</p><p>The truck jerked to a stop, and Booker’s expression of concern morphed immediately into one of fury. “That motherfucking bastard. I’ll k-”</p><p>“Drive, <em> deficiente</em>!” Nicky snapped, returning the flask to its bag. “Get us away from here.”</p><p>Grumbling, Booker obeyed, but he continued to throw angry glances over his shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asked.</p><p>“Of course. It just surprised me,” Nicky assured him. </p><p>She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold, anxious to be in the warm comfort of Joe’s arms, to taste his perfect lips and run her fingers through his soft hair. </p><p>“You have been flirting with him for weeks,” Booker pointed out. Nicky gave him a sharp look, and he added quickly, “Which absolutely does not excuse his actions.” His eyes left the muddy road and swept over Nicky in a way they had been doing with more and more frequency. “But I can’t blame him for wanting to.”</p><p>The truck bounced suddenly, lurching to the side as the wheels spun wildly. It careened sideways, veering off the narrow road, and came to a jarring stop in the shallow, swampy ditch.</p><p>Booker swore roundly in seven different languages, and Nicky just sighed, climbing out of the cab to see if there was any use in trying to push the truck out of its predicament. There wasn’t.</p><p>In the few moments she was outside, the rain soaked into her clothes, and she pulled off the sopping, oversized jumper as soon as she was back inside the dry truck. “The mud is too deep,” she told Booker. “We’ll have to wait for another vehicle, or at least for the rain to stop.”</p><p>She raked her fingers through her hopelessly tangled hair, trying to get it out of her face. It had grown out just long enough to serve both masculine and feminine needs, and she was very grateful she would not have to deal with a wet wig.</p><p>Booker did not answer, and Nicky looked up to find him staring at her. </p><p>He also did not ask permission before he kissed her, but he moved slowly. He moved as if waiting for something to stop him, Nicky herself or his own good sense, but nothing did.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Nile stares at Nicky. “Holy shit.”</p><p>They’re at the hotel, standing side by side in an empty elevator, and Nile is trying to process this huge piece of new information.</p><p>“What did you do?” she asks.</p><p>Nicky tilts her head and looks at Nile with a neutral expression that somehow speaks volumes.</p><p>“Holy <em> shit</em>.”</p><p>Nile very much needs a drink. She also needs to lie down.</p><p>Neither of them says another word until they’re safely in the suite, and Nile finally manages to ask, “Does Joe know?”</p><p>This time, Nicky looks at her like she’s just asked if Nicky eats babies in her spare time.</p><p>“Right. Of course Joe knows,” Nile answers her own question. There’s no way in hell Nicky would keep something like that from Joe. She probably told him everything as soon as she and Booker got back. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just... As soon as I think I know all the important facts, there’s something else.”</p><p>Andy once told her that Nicky and Booker used to be close. Maybe this is the story where that changes.</p><p>“I met his wife, you know,” Nicky says, and it takes Nile a second to understand.</p><p>“Booker’s wife?”</p><p>NIcky nods, sitting on the bed to pull off her high-heeled boots. “She was wonderful. So kind and caring, but she would not, you say, put up with his shit. They adored each other. And I think...” She pauses, one red shoe in each hand. “He very much needed someone like her to keep him in balance.”</p><p>A lot of things start clicking into place. “He wanted you to be her.”</p><p>“I don’t know. In a way, maybe. He was never very good at saying what he needed.” Nicky gives a bitter laugh. “Though, neither am I. Or Andy.”</p><p>“I’m shocked,” Nile drawls, and Nicky throws a pillow at her. “It’s okay. Me and Joe will just have all the emotional intelligence in the family.”</p><p>As if summoned, the door to the suite opens in the front room, and Joe’s voice calls out, “Nicky? Nile?”</p><p>“<em>Huna, tesoro</em>,” Nicky calls back, and Joe is in the bedroom a second later. </p><p>Joe pats Nile’s arm in greeting as he passes her on his way to Nicky. They exchange a few words that Nile can’t make out and press their foreheads together, pausing for a moment just to touch and be close. Then Joe settles on the bed next to Nicky and starts to unpin her wig.</p><p>Nile is about to ask if they want her to leave, when Joe gestures for her to come and sit with them on the bed.</p><p>As soon as she’s propped against the pile of pillows, Joe holds out a few bobby pins, and she offers her open palm to hold them.</p><p>“So you had a thought?” Joe prompts.</p><p>“Right. Yeah.” Nile explains her reasoning for leaving the bar, and Joe nods along, frowning thoughtfully.</p><p>When she’s done, he says, “Copley’s not happy you changed the game, but you’re right. We need to move things along.”</p><p>As carefully as if he’s performing surgery, Joe slips the wig off of Nicky’s head and brings it to the stand on the dresser. When he comes back, he runs his hands through Nicky’s flattened hair, making it stand up, and Nicky closes her eyes with a sigh.</p><p>“<em>Tutto bene</em>?” Joe asks softly, and Nicky nods.</p><p>There are sponges and a bottle of makeup remover on the nightstand, and Joe begins to gently wipe away color around Nicky’s eyes. He’s done this before, probably many times, and Nile wonders if this is a ritual, something that’s become built-in to this part of Nicky by design or by necessity. Nile feels... She’s not sure how she feels about being allowed to witness it. Humbled. Intrusive. Honored. All of these and many other things.</p><p>At some point, while the makeup is being removed and the clothes are being changed, Nicky slips from she to he. Nile couldn’t say when or how or what made the difference, just that the person she came in with was a woman and the person sitting with her now is a man, and they’re both Nicky. </p><p>They order room service, because Nicky and Nile are starving, and the three of them end up piled into the big bed, with Nicky nestled comfortably in between Joe and Nile, his head resting on Joe’s shoulder.</p><p>“I can get out of here,” Nile offers, once the food is gone and everyone is starting to look sleepy. “Or I can sleep on the couch, or something.”</p><p>Nicky frowns and asks, “Why?”</p><p>“I dunno. Thought y’all might want some privacy.”</p><p>Joe scoffs and waves dismissively. “Take a shower and get comfy. We’ll throw you out after breakfast.”</p><p>“You’re sure?” Nile asks, one more time. Joe and Nicky look at each other, then they look at her. “Okay. In that case, I’m about to use that tub in there.”</p><p>The suite has a big jacuzzi tub, and Nile feels like a brand new person after an hour soaking in hot water with jets massaging her back. Magic healing means no aches and pains, for the most part, but it still feels good to let her muscles relax.</p><p>By the time she comes out of the bathroom, now wearing her underwear and a t-shirt she thinks is Joe’s, the bedroom is dark except for the flickering light of the TV. Nicky is watching a cooking show, and Joe is curled up around him, fast asleep.</p><p>“Better?” Nicky asks quietly as Nile climbs into the bed next to him.</p><p>“Oh, so much,” she says. She’s been sleeping on the floor in their little office suite for the past two weeks, so a hot bath and a soft bed are fucking <em> heaven </em>.</p><p>She starts to settle on the edge of the bed, giving Joe and Nicky plenty of space, then remembers exactly who she’s with. Instead, she scoots up close to Nicky and tucks herself into his broad chest. He smells like soap and the lingering floral traces of his perfume, and underneath are the soft citrus scent Nile has come to think of as <em> Nicky </em> and a trace of the warm sweet aroma she thinks of as <em> Joe </em>. They always smell just a little bit like each other.</p><p>“<em>Buona notte, sorellina</em>,” Nicky says, kissing the top of her head.</p><p>“Sweet dreams, sib,” Nile replies, yawning. </p><p>She doesn’t know how long it takes her to fall asleep, but she knows it isn’t long. She dreams about her highschool prom, and Nicky is her date, wearing a sparkling princess gown and glittery red heels. It’s a good dream.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When one of the killers comes for Nicky, it’s weirdly anticlimactic.</p><p>At least Nile thinks it is, but she’s not there when it happens. She just gets woken up in the middle of the night when Joe and Nicky drag a very angry white woman into the office suite and tie her to a chair. </p><p>“She was in the parking garage of the hotel,” Joe explains. “Pretended she was having car trouble to lure Nicky over.”</p><p>Nicky pulls an empty syringe out of his pocket and hands it to Copley, who takes it gingerly. “Ketamine, I think. Felt like ketamine.”</p><p>“I don’t want to know how you know that,” Copley remarks, finding a plastic bag for the evidence.</p><p>The woman, who looks like a middle-aged soccer mom, is gagged and glaring around the room like she’s about to ask for someone’s manager. Andy pulls over a desk chair to sit in front of her and nods at Joe to remove the gag. </p><p>She immediately starts shrieking. “Let me go right now, you bloody psychos! I swear to g-”</p><p>Andy punches her straight in the mouth so fast Nile barely sees Andy’s fist move. The woman blinks, dazed, and shakes her head.</p><p>“Listen,” Andy says evenly. “This isn’t normally how we do things. Intimidation, interrogation, that kind of stuff. But you and your friends have hurt a lot of innocent people, and tonight you went after my family, so we’re doing things a little different. Okay?”</p><p>“Who the hell do you think you are?” the woman shouts back at her. “You can’t just grab people off the street an-”</p><p>Andy slaps her hard across the face.</p><p>“Can you just... dial it back for a minute? Please?” Andy sighs. “And grabbing someone off the street is literally what you were just trying to do, so I wouldn’t aim for that moral high ground, if I were you.”</p><p>The woman stares at Andy, clearly thinking very hard about whether she’s going to keep yelling, then she spits, “What do you want?”</p><p>Andy smiles, almost friendly. “In a general sense, we want your little club to stop killing people. Specifically, right now, from you, we want...” She looks around the room at the rest of the family. “What do you think? Names first? Let’s start with names.”</p><p>The sound of the woman’s teeth grinding is audible. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Oh, you don’t?” Andy says, feigning surprise. “Well, we’ve got some other names here that might help jog your memory. Nicky?”</p><p>They must have planned this at some point, because Nicky has a list pulled up on his phone and begins reading each line in a flat, empty voice. “Kiki Bilir, twenty-eight, blood loss from multiple injuries. Carly Booker, twenty-two, strangulation. Nina Delgado, thirty-three, blunt force trauma.”</p><p>Andy lifts a hand for him to stop, and tells the woman, “See, those are some of the names we know, and now we know your name. Joe, what’s her name?”</p><p>Reading from an ID card, Joe says, “Joann Blanchard, number seven, Elmcroft Circle, Chessington.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you Joann.” Andy leans in a little closer. “Now, Joann, I’ve got a hunch you didn’t kill all those other women all by yourself. I’d even b-”</p><p>“They’re not <em> women</em>,” Joann spits, like she just can’t help herself. </p><p>Andy slaps her again. “Not a debate.”</p><p>Nile knows from experience that the way Andy’s hitting Joann isn’t intended to hurt. It’ll sting a little, but it’s mostly just to shock her, keep her from getting comfortable. With her indignant expression, it’s almost funny.</p><p>At a nod from Andy, Nicky starts reading again. “Becky Medina, thirty-seven, blunt force trauma. Nikki Reyes, thirty, drowning. Serena Ruiz, twenty-five, blood loss as a result of dismemberment.”</p><p>“Ooh. That’s brutal,” Andy remarks. “Was that you? Did you cut that poor child into pieces?”</p><p>Joann looks like she’s going to be sick. </p><p>“No, you don’t have the stomach for that kind of thing,” Andy goes on. “You’re more of a.... hmmm. Poison, maybe? Yeah, you strike me as a passive-aggressive type.”</p><p>“She’s a nurse,” Copley chimes in. He’s sitting to the side with his laptop, apparently finding lots of information about their new friend. “Investigated three years ago when a vial of ketamine went missing from the hospital supplies, but the theft was blamed on an orderly.”</p><p>“See now that’s interesting,” Andy says. “As a nurse, you’d have a pretty good idea of, say, what things might show up in a toxicology report, or even how to induce anaphylaxis. Nicky, didn’t some of our victims die that way?”</p><p>“Three from anaphylactic shock. Two from existing medical conditions,” Nicky recites. He’s looking at Joann, expressionless, big green eyes barely blinking, and Nile wonders what can possibly be going on in his head. Nothing good.</p><p>“Sounds like that might be in your wheelhouse, huh?” Andy moves just a little bit closer to Joann. “So that’s means. People like you never keep your opinions to yourself, so motive should be easy. Opportunity will take a little more legwork to prove, but I doubt you covered your tracks very well.”</p><p>Joann’s stare has gradually gone from rage to terror as it dawns on her just how much trouble she’s in. Andy sees it, too, and sits back.</p><p>“Let me tell you what's going to happen, here. You’re going to answer all our questions, we’re going to get all the dirt on your friends, and we’re going to send everything to the authorities with a little note saying you cooperated.”</p><p>Slowly, like a predator circling a wounded animal, Andy stands and walks around behind Joann, leaning down to speak into her ear. “Of course, you’re probably thinking to yourself: What if I don’t say anything? What if I keep quiet? And that’s fair. The answer, unfortunately, is that if you don’t cooperate, then Nicky...”</p><p>Andy points up at Nicky, who doesn’t so much as twitch. “That’s Nicky. I don’t think you’ve officially met. Nicky is... Oh, what’s the word, Nile?”</p><p>They haven’t rehearsed this, but Nile knows exactly what Andy wants her to say. “Genderfluid.”</p><p>“Right. Nicky’s genderfluid, and he... Now, he’s a man, but she was a woman when you decided to kill her.” Andy waves a hand. “I’m getting distracted. Anyway. If you don’t answer our questions, Nicky’s going to kill you.”</p><p>There’s a palpable shift in the room. Joann looks at Nicky like she’s searching for some sign of sympathy, a tiny crack in his icy expression. Nile knows that, in any other circumstances, pleading with Nicky probably would be a prisoner’s best chance. She knows that this is her closest friend, her sweet sibling who loves to cook and cuddle and read trashy romance novels. Nile can look at him now and see all of that, but she can also see what Joann sees: an impassive, ruthless killer with a righteous mission.</p><p>“I... I don’t know all of them,” Joann says. “I know Donna. She finds out about the men. And... and Sharon, at th-”</p><p>“We’re gonna need a little more detail than that,” Andy cuts her off, sitting back in the office chair. “Now, slow down, and tell me all about Donna.”</p><p>Donna, it turns out, is the bleached blonde server at the bar, and she gives up even more quickly than Joann. </p><p>They’re able to accumulate enough evidence to convict seven women, including Joann and Donna, and Copley hands it over to a contact in the MPS who he promises will see it through. </p><p>The subject of 1941 doesn’t come up again until they’re back at Copley’s, allowing themselves a rest before they start looking for the next job.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Copley apologizes. “I just happened to be awake, and... It’s really a remarkable story.”</p><p>“Okay, but wait a second. Joe said that him and Andy busted out the prisoners at the camp.” Nile points to Nicky. “But you said you did it. So who was it?”</p><p>“I said we planned to liberate the camp,” Joe clarifies. “I didn’t say we actually managed. No, that was all Nicky.”</p><p>Andy makes a so-so gesture with her hand. “It was maybe sixty percent Nicky.”</p><p>“You were dead for most of that fight,” Joe reminds her.</p><p>“Yeah, and I remember doing about forty percent of the work before that.”</p><p>“As always, it was a group effort,” Nicky says, diplomatically. “I just want to be clear that it was not, ah, the daring rescue mission you might imagine.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>To Nicky’s surprise, Stauss actually objected when his fellow soldiers suggested using rape as a coercive measure.</p><p>“We’re not animals!” he argued. “Interrogation is one thing, but violating a woman...”</p><p>One of the others laughed. “I think Stauss is really in love with his French whore.”</p><p>“She’s not some innocent girl, Stauss,” another soldier said, much more gently. “You saw what she did.  She must be some kind of assassin.”</p><p>What Nicky had done was kill three Nazis, incapacitate another, and shoot Booker in the head, all in less than a minute. She only hoped that Booker was able to get away to warn Andy and Joe.</p><p>
  <em> Joe. My heart. If I have to, I will cut through all the Fuhrer’s armies to get back to you. </em>
</p><p>“Wechsler is right,” the officer agreed, pacing slowly around Nicky. In French, he said, “<em>You’ve clearly had training. Certainly in combat, most likely in seduction. I doubt the French Resistance could produce such skill, so what are you? American intelligence? MI6? </em>”</p><p>Nicky just looked at him, unimpressed. As if Allied intelligence would be interested in this slipshod operation.</p><p>They’d tied Nicky to a wooden chair and had been slapping her around for a while but hadn’t yet noticed that there were no marks left behind. Eventually, of course, they would, and it was also just a matter of time before they found out she wasn’t the kind of woman they believed. Nicky had no idea which revelation would be worse for her, but she stayed silent and waited.</p><p>“<em>If you don’t answer my questions, I will let my men have their way with you, and they will not be kind</em>,” the officer warned.</p><p>Nicky blinked slowly, face blank, and said nothing.</p><p>The officer sighed, and Nicky almost believed he truly regretted the situation. “Alright. Kunkel, see if you can get some noise out of her.”</p><p>The soldier who had teased Stauss for being in love pulled a knife from his belt and stalked toward Nicky with a leering grin. Nicky watched him without expression and was gratified to see his grin fade a little as he drew closer. </p><p>Many men had approached her with knives. Many men had threatened to rape her. Some men had done so. This fascist child was just a momentary trouble, soon to be dead and forgotten.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“How do you...?” Copley trails off when everyone looks at him. “Sorry. I just... That seems like a very blasé response to being tortured by Nazis.”</p><p>Nicky pauses for a moment, thinking, before he asks, “When you were with the CIA, were you trained to resist interrogation?”</p><p>“Yes,” Copley says, glancing at Nile. They probably had the same training: name, rank, and serial number, ad infinitum.</p><p>“All the techniques you were taught, I learned from experience,” Nicky tells him evenly. “We all did.”</p><p>That, Nile decides, is the most terrifying and badass thing she’s ever heard anyone say.</p><p>“We used to not worry so much about avoiding capture,” Joe adds. “We figured, what’s the worst that could happen, right?”</p><p>“Then we learned. Many times over,” Nicky says. He and Joe are looking at each other, and that look carries more history than all the books in the world. Turning back to Copley, Nicky goes on, “I don’t mean to say I wasn’t afraid. Only so much fear is from imagining what will happen. Everything they could do to me has already been done, so I knew what was coming and was less afraid. <em> Ha senso</em>?”</p><p>He doesn’t say it, but Nile knows that the worst possible thing that could happen to him wouldn’t have been a concern, simply because the Nazis didn’t have Joe.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Kunkel started by cutting the front of Nicky’s jumper. It took time to saw through the wool strands, and he looked like he would have been enjoying himself, if not for Nicky’s impassive eyes fixed on his face.</p><p>“<em>Little breasts, big woman</em>,” he sneered in broken French. </p><p>Nicky just watched him and waited.</p><p>When he reached the center of the jumper, focused on his task, head level with Nicky’s, Nicky leaned her head back just enough to get momentum and smashed her forehead into his nose with a wet crunch.</p><p>They would figure it out eventually, but the longer she could delay that, the better.</p><p>Kunkel stumbled back with a curse, dropping his knife to clutch his bloody nose.</p><p>The officer laughed. “I don’t think she likes you, Kunkel.”</p><p>A thin stream of the soldier’s blood trickled down the center of Nicky’s face, sticking to the tacky patches of her own blood around her nose and mouth. Good. The more blood on her, the less likely they would notice the lack of any cuts and bruises.</p><p>“Why don’t you give it a try, Stauss?” the officer suggested. “She is your sweetheart, after all.”</p><p>Stauss looked at Nicky, and she let her expression change, let him see just a little bit of real fear. She didn’t expect him to defy orders, but she could make him hesitate, make him disgusted with himself, make him pay for the kiss he’d already stolen.</p><p>The officer rolled his eyes. “Go on. We all know you’ve been itching to get under that skirt.”</p><p>Nicky kept her gaze on Stauss, letting her eyes widen and her lips part as he took one uncertain step toward her.</p><p>“<em>Work for who</em>?” he asked. His French was even worse than his comrade’s, and Nicky knew that the little he had learned was just so he could talk to her.</p><p>He picked up the fallen knife and begged her, “<em>Please. To talk</em>.”</p><p>Nicky leaned away as he came closer, straining her bare feet against their bonds as if she was trying to get away from him. He set his mouth in a hard line and reached for the cut edges of her jumper, careful not to bring his face within striking distance. </p><p>“<em>Tut mir leid, fräulein,</em>” he said, and Nicky believed him.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god, stop.” Nile’s heart is pounding, and her stomach feels tight. “This is... It’s too much. It’s too much.”</p><p>Nicky looks stricken. “<em>Mi dispiace, sorellina</em>. I don’t...”</p><p>“No, no. It’s okay.” Nile covers her face with her hands and breathes. She feels Andy’s hand settle between her shoulder blades, and the gentle pressure helps bring her back to the moment, the now, where they are all here and safe.</p><p>“Probably a good time for a break,” Andy suggests, and everyone murmurs assent.</p><p>Nile gets up and goes out to Copley’s backyard, immediately feeling better in the cool night air. She tries to close her eyes, but she just sees Nicky on the back of her eyelids, tied to a chair and getting felt up by Nazis.</p><p>It’s not that she doesn’t know this kind of thing has happened to them, or that she hasn’t seen some harrowing shit in her life. It’s the way Nicky talks about it like it’s nothing, like all of it just rolls right off of him, even though she knows for a fact that it doesn’t.</p><p>The door to the house opens behind her, and she wonders who got the job of coming to check on her. She’s not at all surprised when Joe’s big arms wrap around her, and she relaxes back into him. He doesn’t say anything, just hugs her and waits until she’s ready to talk.</p><p>She’s got a lot of questions, but the one she asks is, “Did they figure it out?”</p><p>Joe draws in a breath before he answers. “Yeah. She made them work for it, but once Stauss got her shirt off...”</p><p>“<em>Jesus Christ</em>,” Nile mutters. “How can you stand to hear this stuff?”</p><p>To her utter astonishment, Joe laughs. “Because so much fear is from imagining what will happen.”</p><p>Nile pulls away and turns around to look at him, frowning.</p><p>“Do you remember I said what I imagined happening to Nicky was worse than what they actually did?” he asks, and Nile nods. “Imagining is <em> always </em>going to be worse than knowing. The thought of Nicky getting hurt makes me sick, but I know how much he can take. I know every detail of everything he’s been through, and I know it didn’t break him. But you bet your ass I can imagine a hundred even worse things that might.”</p><p>Suddenly, Nile thinks about Nicky teaching her to fight with a knife. The very first thing he’d done was stab her in the chest, so she would know what it felt like and wouldn’t flinch away from it. It had sucked, she’d got him back for it as soon as she could, but it worked.</p><p>“If you want to skip that part of the story, we can,” Joe tells her. “I wouldn’t blame you. Just because it’s better to know doesn’t make it any easier to hear.”</p><p>This has always been the deal. If Nile asks a question, she’ll get an answer. She might not like it, she might decide she doesn’t want to hear it, but it’ll be the truth. It’s up to her to decide how much truth she can handle.</p><p>“I think I’d rather skip it, for now,” she says. Maybe one day she’ll get Nicky or Joe to fill in the details for her, but right now it feels like too much. “I just wanna know... I mean, I don’t <em> want </em>to know. I just... Did they... y’know...?”</p><p>“Did they rape her?” Joe guesses. “No.”</p><p>Nile lets out a breath she’s been holding since the story started. “Thank fuck.”</p><p>Joe gives her a thin smile. “Take comfort where you can, huh?”</p><p>“I guess so.” Nile takes a deep breath and shakes out her arms. “Okay. I’m good.”</p><p>“You sure?” Joe asks, looking at her. “We can pick this up another time.”</p><p>Nile nods. “I’m sure. I wanna hear about y’all kicking some Nazi ass.”</p><p>Joe’s smile brightens. “That’s definitely the highlight of this story.”</p><p>When they go back inside, Andy and Copley are sitting on the couch, talking intently, and Nicky is nowhere to be seen. He and Joe definitely have some kind of internal compass for each other, though, because Joe immediately goes upstairs, not to the spare bedroom they’ve been using while they’re here, but to Copley’s office.</p><p>Andy looks at Nile with a raised eyebrow, and Nile nods. She’s good. Andy nods back, and that’s it. Copley looks back and forth between them, but he doesn’t say anything, just gets up to make a pot of tea.</p><p>It’s another minute before Joe and Nicky reappear, and Nicky looks hesitant in a way Nile has never seen him, hanging back behind Joe’s shoulder and not meeting Nile’s eyes. On instinct, Nile goes over and hugs Nicky, squeezing tight to reassure him that all her anger and disgust is aimed at the people who hurt him, never at him. After a moment, he hugs her back and kisses the top of her head.</p><p>Once the tea is ready, they settle into place for the end of the story. Nile tucks herself against Andy’s side on the couch, and Nicky sits in an armchair, with Joe on the floor in front of him. There’s an empty chair, but instead of sitting there, Copley returns to the couch and sits on Andy’s other side. He’s going to be part of the family before anyone realizes it’s happening, Nile thinks.</p><p>Nicky is holding his tea in one hand and carding his fingers through Joe’s hair with the other. He takes a deep breath before he continues.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>All told, the Nazis tortured Nicky for six hours, and once they realized she wasn’t the “right” kind of woman, their techniques became more aggressive and more creative. Nicky stayed silent as long as she could, and, when she couldn’t, began to recite poetry, trying to think of a different poem for every language she spoke.</p><p>She had gotten to Japanese by the time her rescue arrived.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“How many languages do you speak?” Copley asks suddenly, and Joe looks at him like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever said.</p><p>Nicky shrugs. “Many. Andy speaks many more.”</p><p>“Most of which are dead,” Andy points out. </p><p>“But when you say you got as far as Japanese...” Copley presses.</p><p>“It was a lot,” Joe snaps, and Copley shuts right the fuck up.</p><p>Nile wonders if there’s a number or if Joe just knows because he and Nicky know all the same languages and poetry.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The first explosion was just faint enough that Nicky thought she might have imagined it.</p><p>The second explosion was near enough to shake the building, and Nicky smiled.</p><p>There was a beat of uncertainty in which the officer and the three soldiers looked at each other in shock. Then the officer turned to Nicky with a glare and asked in French, “<em>Is that your friends coming to save you</em>?”</p><p>Nicky gave him a bloody grin and, speaking German for the first time since this ordeal began, answered, “My family.”</p><p>Another explosion sounded, even closer, and the officer swore and punched Nicky in the stomach, knocking the air out of her lungs. </p><p>“You two, come with me.” The officer pointed at the soldier whose nose Nicky had broken. “You, stay here and guard <em> that</em>.”</p><p>Once they had discovered the truth about Nicky’s gender, they had started referring to her as an object, a thing, an <em> it. </em>Her jumper and brassière, which had provided great amusement, were in shreds on the floor, leaving her to shiver in a thin sleeveless undershirt and her cotton skirt, both of which were drenched in blood and sweat.</p><p>It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. These bastards would all be dead soon. </p><p>With the others gone, the remaining soldier paced back and forth across the small office, carrying his gun in nervous fingers, alternating between eyeing Nicky and peering out the window at the unfolding chaos. Nicky just watched him and waited. </p><p>After a minute of tense silence, he asked, “You speak German?”</p><p>Nicky thought about staying quiet, but she thought she might be able to unsettle him more if she spoke, or at least distract him. “Fluently.”</p><p>The soldier narrowed his eyes. “And all the things you were saying?”</p><p>“Poetry.”</p><p>“What use does a spy have for poetry?”</p><p>“I’m not a spy,” Nicky told him. “And all people are enriched by beautiful words.”</p><p>“What are you, then?” the soldier asked. “You’re not French.”</p><p>“Why do you say that?” She might have pointed out that <em> French </em>was not an occupation, but now that no one was hitting her, it was easier for Nicky to focus on the ropes holding her to the chair. They were tight, but if she could manage to free just one hand...</p><p>“You have an accent, but it isn’t French,” the soldier replied. “Spanish, maybe?”</p><p>Nicky fought the impulse to roll her eyes. Nine hundred years, and no matter what language she spoke, she would always sound like a little urchin from Genova, for which she received regular teasing from both Joe and Booker.</p><p>“You have a good ear,” she said. “But no, not Spanish.”</p><p>“English?” he guessed, and Nicky laughed out loud. Grinning, he tried again, “American?”</p><p>Nicky shook her head. “Of all the ways you’ve insulted me, calling me <em> American </em>is by far the worst.”</p><p>“Russian?” The soldier came closer to Nicky and leaned in, though not close enough that she could headbutt him again. “I’m going to figure it out.”</p><p>There was a sound, barely audible over the noise outside, a soft <em> click </em>at the door. Nicky heard it. The soldier didn’t.</p><p>Keeping the amused smile on her face, Nicky looked the soldier dead in the eye and said, “You’re going to die, first.”</p><p>His face went pale as he drew back from her, startled. At the same moment, the door burst open, and Booker fired two bullets into the soldier’s back. The young man fell to the floor and coughed once before he went completely still, face down in a spreading pool of blood.</p><p>Booker rushed to her side and immediately started cutting through the ropes around her wrists. The relief that flooded through Nicky was so intense, she felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.</p><p>“Are you alright? Please tell me you’re alright,” Booker pleaded, his hands skimming over her, checking for injuries as he untied her.</p><p>“Better now,” Nicky told him honestly, reaching to untie her ankles while Booker moved to free her other arm.</p><p>When all her bonds were removed, Booker put a hand on either side of her face and kissed her forehead. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, <em> cherie</em>. I’d rather be interrogated by fascists than tell Joe I lost you.”</p><p>“Next time, you can shoot me in the head,” she promised him, retrieving the gun from the fallen Nazi.</p><p>“That’s not really better.” There was a long shape wrapped in cloth slung from Booker’s shoulder, and he held it out it to her. “I thought you might want this.”</p><p>Nicky handed him the gun and smiled as she unwrapped her longsword and buckled its belt around her waist. Now, she was ready for a fight.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“So the plan,” Joe says. “Was for me and Andy to cause some confusion, get the prisoners out of their barracks, and overthrow the camp. Which worked great, right up until it didn’t.”</p><p>“We were counting on the prisoners fighting with us, at least a little,” Andy explains. “Booker had seen the ones who worked in the kitchen and said they were in bad shape, but we didn’t...” She closes her eyes and runs a hand through her hair. “These days, there’s all kinds of accounts about what happened in the camps, but we just... didn’t know.”</p><p>“Half of them could barely stand,” Joe goes on quietly. “Of the ones that could, only some of them were strong enough to lift a gun or to run. We went into the barracks thinking we’d come out with an angry mob, but we ended up getting pinned down. Andy got caught in an explosion and was down for the count, so it was me and a bunch of half-dead men against what was left of the Nazi troops.”</p><p>“About sixty percent of them,” Andy clarifies, looking at Nicky with a sly smile. “You and Book did the math, didn’t you?”</p><p>Nicky nods, barely suppressing a small, pleased smile. “He estimated less than one hundred soldiers on the base, in total. By the end of that night, I had killed fifty-two.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The soldiers who weren’t trying to put out the fires all over the base had surrounded one of the prisoners’ barracks and were being held off by a few brave souls shooting sporadically out from the building.</p><p>Nicky knew what was happening even before Booker said, “Andy and Joe are in there.”</p><p>“Follow me, but stay back,” Nicky commanded, and drew her sword.</p><p>Booker gave some kind of protest, but Nicky didn’t hear him, already slipping away into the shadows. She trusted him to catch up with the plan, even if he didn’t like it.</p><p>The nearest cluster of soldiers was huddled behind a dense bush that kept them out of sight of the barracks, even if it wouldn’t have provided any protection. Nicky caught one around the neck with her arm and stabbed another before any of them knew what was happening. Two quick swings and a snap, and the soldiers were dead.</p><p>She crouched and waited, listening for any sign of alarm, but the only sound was the shouting and gunfire being exchanged with the barracks. As she turned to move on, she caught a glimpse of Booker’s face, stunned and staring as if he had never seen her before, and it sent shame like a sliver of glass into her heart.</p><p>No time for that, now. Not when Joe needed her.</p><p>Her bare feet were silent on the muddy ground, and she was able to spring into the middle of a group of four and dispatch them all with one fluid motion. Booker followed, collecting weapons from the fallen soldiers, and Nicky did not look at his face again.</p><p>The next two groupings of soldiers were too close together for her to eliminate one without alerting the other, so she waited for an exchange of gunfire to cover the sound as she took out the smaller group, then quickly swapped her sword for a pistol to finish the others before they could return fire. </p><p>The second group had been gathered behind a truck, a better vantage point than her previous targets, and one of the dead soldiers had been armed with a rifle. Nicky wiped and sheathed her sword and braced the rifle across the hood of the truck. It was a model she had never fired before and had no scope attached, but Nicky would make do with what she had. </p><p>She emptied the rifle’s magazine and counted twelve hits before the Nazis figured out where the shots were coming from and started shooting back. With Booker providing cover fire, Nicky dropped the rifle and retreated back into the shadow of a nearby building.</p><p>With the realization that a new enemy was nearby, the organized Nazi soldiers became cattle who have scented a wolf in their pasture. Nicky drew her sword again and used the confusion to take down another small cluster, before moving toward the largest group of them, all crowded around their commanding officer.</p><p>Years later, Booker, who had taken up a flanking position, would describe the sight of Nicky stepping out of the shadows like a terrible avenging spirit, long skirt in tatters, bright sword in hand, dirty and bloody and ruthless. Joan of Arc, resurrected. Saint Sebastian, seeking justice. A vision of holy fury to make the most hardened sinner beg for mercy. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“He said he nearly pissed himself,” Joe remarks.</p><p>“At least one of the Nazis did,” Nicky adds, utterly unfazed. “I think another one became aroused.”</p><p>There are two kinds of people, Nile figures.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The carnage that followed was... distant. Nicky recalled the details the way she might remember a certain walk down a familiar path, her movements directed by nine centuries of instinct and habit. A number of bullets hit her, but none of the shots were fatal or even slowed her down. In the chaos, the Nazis were just as likely to shoot each other as to hit Nicky, and several of them fell to friendly fire. </p><p>When all the shooting stopped, she was alive, and they were dead. Little else mattered.</p><p>Well, most of them were dead. One trembling figure remained on the ground, sobbing as he dragged himself away from the bodies at Nicky’s feet. </p><p>“No, please,” Stauss begged, staring up at Nicky with wide, red-rimmed eyes. “Please. You know me. I am a decent man.”</p><p>“You gave up decency when you put on that uniform,” Nicky said flatly, and drove the point of her sword into his throat. </p><p>The door to the prisoners’ barracks burst open, and Nicky raised the pistol in her hand before she realized that the figure rushing toward her was Joe.</p><p>Nicky felt as though she had been wrapped in leather and could suddenly feel the air on her skin, as though her heart had been frozen in her chest and was now allowed to beat. She felt the ache in her muscles, the sharp rocks under her feet, the mud and gore caked all over her. Then Joe’s arms were around her, and all she felt was safe.</p><p>Joe wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and pressed their foreheads together, and the last unsteady piece of Nicky’s mind settled back into its rightful place.</p><p>“My warrior goddess,” Joe said softly, awed and reverent.</p><p>“My devoted priest,” Nicky replied, adoring and ardent.</p><p>There was still work to do - there would always be work to do - but this moment belonged to them. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“One of the prisoners was a Greek man,” Andy says. “He must have heard us say Nicky’s name at some point, but the name he heard was <em> Niké</em>.”</p><p>Joe and Nicky are looking at each other like it’s 1941, all over again. </p><p>“The goddess of victory,” Joe breathes. Nicky smiles at him, sweet and radiant.</p><p>“When the Allied troops asked how they got free of the camp, that was the story they told,” Andy goes on. “They said Victory herself came to save them.”</p><p>Raising her eyebrow at Nicky, Nile says, “So I’ve heard about the people who thought you were an angel, now there’s these guys that thought you were a goddess. Where’s the story about folks thinking you’re an alien?”</p><p>Nicky snorts, “Oh, that was... The nineteen sixties, maybe?”</p><p>“No, it was the seventies,” Joe tells him. “Remember? You had the long hair.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, and there was the girl with the glitter,” Nicky says, nodding.</p><p>“Oh, god. So much glitter,” Joe groans.</p><p>Andy laughs and claps her hands. “Do you remember when you put glitter in Booker’s socks?”</p><p>Joe straight up cackles, and Nicky puts his face in his hands to hide his grin. Nile shakes her head at them. “Y’all, that’s just mean.”</p><p>“Oh, he got me back,” Joe assures her. “This was part of a prank war that went on for about thirty years.”</p><p>Nile is so deeply unsurprised by this revelation, she’s a little disappointed in all of them. “Oh my god. Of course it was.”</p><p>“Who won?” Copley asks, and all three of them laugh.</p><p>In unison, Andy and Joe say, “Nicky.”</p><p>Nicky just smiles.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://shadowen.tumblr.com/post/641587980065275904/just-some-character-sketches-from-goddess-of">Some character sketches of Nike</a>
</p><p> </p><p>The names of the victims are all taken from the names of real trans women murdered in 2019 and 2020.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>